


Incapable of Living and Dying

by Lynchy8



Series: The Life and Times of Enjolras and Grantaire [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Acute stress disorder, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood, Coming Out, Difficult choices, Domestic Violence, First Times, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Panic Attacks, Physical Abuse, Pining, Smut, The Long and Winding Road, There's fluff in chapter 8!, This is going to be long, Trips to the beach, Violence, and more in chapter 9 - good grief, basically warnings for everything horrible you could possibly imagine in chapter 15, in February!, mature for later chapters, slow build of relationship, warning for CPR, warning for character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-24 18:19:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 46,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynchy8/pseuds/Lynchy8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"With a final tug at the knot of the new tie, Enjolras looked himself up and down in the mirror and sighed. Everything about it screamed “new boy” from the scratchy, unfamiliar shirt and the grey, pressed trousers to the black blazer hanging on the back of his door."</p><p>Enjolras and Grantaire meet on the first day of their final year at school. It's going to be quite a year for both of them.</p><p>Enjolras is frustrated, Grantaire has a secret and the pair of them muddle their way through as best they can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

One… Two… Three… Four…

“Come on you bastard! Breathe!”  
  
Five… Six… Seven… Eight…  
  
“Wake up!”  
  
Nine… Ten… Eleven… Twelve...  
  
“Don’t you, don’t you fucking dare…”  
  
Thirteen… Fourteen… Fifteen… Sixteen…  
  
“Don’t you die!”  
  
Panic began to set in. He was half way through the first set of compressions and already his arms felt like jelly. How the hell was he supposed to keep this up?  
  
“Come on, R! Wake the fuck up!”  
  
Seventeen… Eighteen… Nineteen… Twenty  
  
“I don’t permit it, you hear?”  
  
Twenty-one… Twenty-two… Twenty-three… Twenty-four…  
  
“Please”  
  
Twenty-five… Twenty-six… Twenty-seven… Twenty- eight  
  
“Two more”  
  
Twenty-nine… Thirty  
  
Out of breath himself, with sweat running down his forehead and blood everywhere, he leaned down to listen for a breath. In the distance, Enjolras could hear sirens.

+

 

_Seven months earlier_

With a final tug at the knot of the new tie, Enjolras looked himself up and down in the mirror and sighed. Everything about it screamed “new boy” from the scratchy, unfamiliar shirt and the grey, pressed trousers to the black blazer hanging on the back of his door.

From downstairs his mother trilled his name, summoning him for breakfast. Setting his shoulders and sparing a final glare at his reflection, he steadily made his way down to the kitchen.

His father did not look up from his Telegraph as he entered the room. Enjolras returned the sentiment by sitting himself down in the opposite chair without so much as a “good morning”. Neither had much to say to each other since his father had announced that they were moving to Surrey.

Enjolras had been absolutely furious. Did his parents not appreciate that he had very important exams to pass? Not to mention his friends, his clubs and his responsibilities. His father had retorted that the exams in Surrey would be exactly the same as the ones in Devon and that his career was far more important that some snotty school boy’s lofty ideals. A lot of shouting and door-slamming had followed but the end result had been the same; the family were in Surrey to stay.

Two weeks ago his mother had taken him out to be measured for his uniform but otherwise he was not at all interested in the new educational facility where he was expected to spend his final years of school.

“I’ll drop you in for the first day, if you like” his mother sang brightly, trying to force some sort of conversation over the toast and cereal.

“No thank you, mother, that won’t be necessary” he said stiffly. As if being a new boy in Year 11 wasn’t bad enough, it would be far more horrific to arrive with a parent in tow.

He was indifferent to the somewhat dilapidated school building, with its hoards of pupils all pushing and shoving each other in delighted familiarity. The stuffy office was filled with staff who chuckled amongst themselves. He was pointedly ignored by the secretaries as if to remind him of his lowly schoolboy status. He set his jaw firmly, keeping his own thumping heart under control.

Finally, a new timetable in hand, he was led down several corridors to a tower block, up two flights of stairs and into a class room where registration was clearly well under way.

There are few things more terrifying than being the new boy entering a classroom full of old boys. The form teacher had a quick conversation with the secretary who had brought him into this bear pit and internally he steeled himself for the inevitable humiliation to which he was about to be subjected.

“So, why don’t you introduce yourself!” she said in an overly friendly tone, all smile and no warmth. Enjolras faced his audience, half of whom were bored while the other half were trying to scent any weakness from the fresh meat at the front.

“My name is Enjolras. I’ve just transferred here from Ottery St Mary.” There was a snort from the back. Enjolras ignored it. The form teacher smiled encouragingly.

“That’s nice” she said blandly, “why don’t you take a seat over there while we finish assigning the lockers.”

The only free chair in the room was towards the back on the right. Slumped in the seat next to it was a boy with black messy curls. His arms were folded protectively around him and his eyes were fixed on the window, watching the early September rains hammer down outside.

“Hi” said Enjolras bracingly. His mother’s voice echoed in his head ‘be friendly’ and he attempted a smile at his desk mate. The boy didn’t move his body, but his eyes shot sideways to observe him through a few tufts of stray curls. His face was unreadable, neither hostile nor welcoming. For a moment they stared at each other.

“Grantaire!” the boy jumped, causing a renewal of sniggers from the rest of the class. His dark eyes sought out the teacher warily but she smiled encouragingly. “Locker 86” she waved the key at him. He folded himself out of the chair and sloped towards the teacher, as though trying to take up as little room as possible. He worried his bottom lip with his teeth while he signed for the key, before returning to his seat.

Enjolras turned his attention to his timetable but he was dimly aware of the boy next to him watching him intently from behind his hair. When the bell rang, Grantaire quickly gathered his bag and stood to go. He seemed surprised to find Enjolras standing next to him, looking expectant.

“What’s your first class?” he enquired politely.  
  
“Art” muttered the boy, drawing his right arm across his chest, rubbing his left shoulder and unable to keep his eyes from the floor.  
  
“Oh,” said Enjolras, lightly. Grantaire narrowed his eyes and brought them up to meet those of his opponent.  
  
“What's that supposed to mean?” his voice was low, dangerous. Enjolras took a step back, surprised.  
  
“I only meant, we could have walked together. I don’t know where I’m going”. His tone had also increased in force and he watched this strange boy back down and withdraw.  
  
“Oh. Right.”  
  
“Never mind” Enjolras shook his head, giving it up as a bad job. He was perfectly capable of finding his own way and in three, confident strides he was out of the classroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in the UK, so follows the British education system. Year 11 is the year when pupils take their GCSE (General Certificate of Standard Education) exams. Students are 15 to 16 years old.
> 
> It was tempting to try and set it in France, but I didn't want to get too caught up on whether I was accidentally sending them to school on a Wednesday (there was also a risk I might forget to make them go on a saturday morning as well) so apologies for the cultural laziness!


	2. Barbarus Hic Ego Sum Quia Non Intellegor Ulli

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire is in need of nicotine and Enjolras hates his new school

Grantaire was in hell.

He knew he was fucked as soon as the blonde Adonis had marched through that door. It was as though Apollo himself had arrived, ready to face the entire Achaean army.

In the moments before the new boy had entered, Grantaire had been planning when would be best to sneak off for his first cigarette of the school term. He had Art for the first two periods and there was a little lane behind the art building that would be perfect as a cut-through to get to his Maths lesson. All thoughts of furtive inter-class smoke breaks flew from his brain as soon as Apollo had arrived. _Enjolras_. 

Then a full ten minutes had passed where this image of perfection had sat next to him, calm and apparently comfortable in his presence. Grantaire was used to the indifference and outright hostility afforded him by the rest of the class. To have a fellow pupil within five feet of him and at ease with that was something of a foreign sensation. 

Ok, it had been followed by a spectacularly unsuccessful conversation, not exactly famous first words. But it was the first time anyone had tried to strike up a conversation with him in two whole years. Enjolras was new and so wasn’t to know that one of the uncodified school rules was that no one spoke to Grantaire. 

Watching him leave the classroom, he’d felt a stab of regret which he tried to shake off. He’d soon learn, this new boy. He’d soon learn that it wasn’t worth his time. Still, he wished he’d been able to say _something_ to his new god while he had the chance.

 

His classmates didn’t hate him, because that would be too much like emotion. They were totally apathetic to his existence. If he dropped off the planet tomorrow nobody would notice, apart from briefly when he didn’t shout “here” at registration. 

Grantaire set his shoulders and made his way to the Art block. He hated the first week of term so much. It was all paper work and no mess; signing your life away as you were presented with new text books and work books for the new school year. There was no actual learning. Next week would be worse as that is when they would go through the exam results from the end of last year. 

He doodled his way through his first class, trying to afford his tutor some attention in recognition of the fact it was one of his more successful subjects. There was to be a soiree at the end of term, a chance for parents and friends to come and look at the work they would be submitting to the examination board next year. Grantaire suppressed a shudder and kept one eye on the clock, waiting for the bell for recess. At its ringing he scooted from his seat and shot out the door. He hurtled down the steps towards freedom and the promise of blessed relief in the form of a crumpled cigarette packet in the bottom of his bag. 

+  
  
The blonde caught up with him as he re-entered the main building. Enjolras called out to him, making his feet come to an abrupt stop in the middle of the corridor. He struggled to focus on the boy jogging towards him, especially as he appeared to be smiling. As he drew closer, about a foot away from Grantaire, he opened his mouth, perhaps to ask for directions. Whatever Enjolras’s purpose, it was lost as the boy came to a sudden stop and wrinkled his nose.

“Have you been smoking?” he spluttered, looking appalled. Grantaire was unabashed.  
“Yeah,” he shrugged “Want one?”  
“No I do not! I intend to live a long cancer-free life.” Grantaire could not help himself and snorted with laughter. The new boy’s eyes flashed dangerously. He stormed off, nose in the air, leaving Grantaire’s sardonic laughter echoing in his wake. 

Whenever Grantaire saw him for the rest of the day, Enjolras fixed him with a pointed glare but he could not be sad. Whenever he saw that face he felt something in his chest loosen. While that icy glare was fixed upon him, he could breathe. 

 

As it happened, they saw a fair bit of each other. Due to the misfortune of being the new boy, Enjolras was usually forced to accept the inevitable empty chair next to Grantaire in every class they shared. Perhaps if he was less outraged he might have wondered at this apparently friendless boy he found himself associating with. But he did not wonder. Instead, he seemed to find lots of reasons to glare at his desk partner over the next few weeks.

He glared at him whenever he spied a pack of cigarettes in his bag, usually wedged between his Latin dictionary and History text book.

He glared at him when he put his hand up in History to announce that the subject was nothing but wearisome repetition. The history teacher, by now used to five years of this behaviour, declined to comment.

He glared at him in Maths when he used the graph paper for sketching psychedelic patterns instead of plotting variables as instructed.

He glared at him in PE when they got paired up together for badminton and Grantaire refused point blank to attempt to reach the shuttlecock, forcing Enjolras to do all the work as his competitive streak meant that he refused to back down in the face of adversity.

He didn’t seem to notice that the more he glared, the happier Grantaire became, as if his glares were actually the highest compliments he could have bestowed upon his classmate. 

Enjolras, for his part, felt completely frustrated in his new environment. Most of the clubs and societies that would have sparked his interest were full of people who had been friends for five years or longer. He wasn’t known or trusted enough to be included. Most of the pupils here were apathetic in their environment, or else too focussed on their own problems. Most eyes were firmly fixed on the upcoming exams. Owing to a slightly different pace of curriculum here than at his last school, he found himself slightly ahead, which meant that on top of everything else he was bored. Enjolras hated boredom. He was a person of action who thrived on doing things, learning things. He was used to discussion and debate. He had a thirst for knowledge and liked to be among people who shared those same thirsts and desires. Here he was alone.

There was little respite to be had at home. The house was mostly empty as his father threw himself into his new job with gusto. His mother had decided to join local society and so was usually involved in some coffee morning or other. He did not miss them and was grateful for the peace and quiet. However, occasionally the silence would prove oppressive and the loneliness intolerable. More than anything he wished he were back at his old school, working with familiar friends in a familiar environment.

Throwing his History homework aside he massaged his eyes and looked at the calendar on the wall. October half term would be soon and then it would be seven weeks to Christmas. Then mocks. Then Easter. Then the real exams and then he would be off to sixth form college and A Levels. From there he would go to University where his life would really begin. He dreamed of this future stretching out before him. It sustained him for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is taken from Ovid  
> "I am a barbarian in this place because I am not understood by anybody"


	3. Of Fathers and Sons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire's history. A glimpse at his childhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning  
> Huge great massive trigger warning for violence and abuse.

Grantaire spent a lot of his early childhood confused and frightened.  
He was confused by the man who carried him on his shoulders, who smiled and laughed and told silly jokes. The man who would join him in the garden to kick a football about or read stories to him. This man who had taught him to ride a bike and built sandcastles with him on the beach.

He was confused because this was also the man who frightened him. He was frightened because this man bellowed at him in a voice that shook him in his soul. This man crashed up the stairs behind him as he ran as fast as he possibly could, already knowing that it was futile and that he would be caught well before he reached the safety of the bathroom with its comforting lock.

This was the same man who once tore him from his bed and beat him for leaving his socks in the living room. This man whose legs he would observe from under the dining table where he cowered, knowing that he was seconds from being discovered. He remembered vividly hiding under his bed and being forcibly extracted by his ankles.

He was confused and frightened because these two men were his father and he had considerable trouble reconciling the two.

Grantaire’s father worked with explosives in the army. He was a stickler for precision and believed if a job was worth doing it was worth doing thoroughly and in the proper order. He expected his son to be exact, neat, tidy and precise. As his son wept over his Math’s homework he instructed him, “You need to make careful calculations when you’re working with explosives.” Grantaire adopted this advice as a metaphor for his life.

The fact that his father wasn’t violent all of the time was possibly the worst thing about it. He never knew what might trigger an explosion. He had tried to find a pattern, a system to live by that would guarantee his safety. If he always put his shoes in the shoe rack, hung his shirt in the wardrobe, sat in the chair furthest from the television, sat on the left rather than on the right in the car… then maybe, just maybe, his father would be happy. If he was quiet and good the scary man might disappear.

But the system didn’t work. It didn’t matter if Grantaire was good and quiet and said please and thank you. Whether he sat on the left or the right, his father was still furious. He wondered what he had done that made his father hate him so much.

As he got older he started to observe with caution the other adults in his world. Surely they must know! Surely they suspect what lies behind those bruises on his arms and legs. Could they not see the little boy who jumped whenever a door slammed? Were they blind to him that day he was throwing up in the toilet after scoring 5/10 on his Maths test? They were all complicit through their inactivity.

When he was eleven he went to his friend’s house for tea after school. He had changed out of his uniform and stuffed it into a carrier bag which he then promptly forgot about.

The following morning he couldn’t find his uniform anywhere. He frantically searched his drawers, his wardrobe and his washing basket while his father stood behind him, snorting like an enraged bull. By now he was crying in fear. His uniform was nowhere to be found. Standing to face his father he begged for forgiveness. His father hit him across the face with the back of his hand, his wedding ring leaving a scratch across Grantaire’s cheek.

Grantaire staggered backwards, finding himself up against the bedroom wall. As the beast before him strode forward, he caught a flash of chrome. His father took up the chair from his desk and swung it towards his son.

For a moment he didn’t feel anything but he was aware of an explosion of white. On opening his eyes he found that his pajamas were covered in red. As was the wall next to and behind him. And the carpet. Big sploshes of red. There was a moment of confusion before the stinging pain in his head registered and he realised that it was blood. Actual, real blood.

Suddenly his father was kneeling on the floor in front of him. One hand was on his shoulder, the other clutched his chin, turning his face towards him. He stared into his father’s eyes. The monster from moments before had disappeared. The face before him was calm and expressionless.

“Look what you made me do,” his father’s voice was quiet, toneless. He gathered his son into his arms and carried him to the bathroom.

Much later, after his mother had washed the blood from him and tucked him into clean sheets he remembered the carrier bag. Only then did he sob.

After the uniform incident things, surprisingly, got better. His father was posted abroad for six months and when he came back he was different. The explosive episodes were fewer and they even managed a family holiday to France. That holiday was seared into Grantaire’s mind. In an old dusty book shop in a town in Normandy he was permitted to select an item of his choice. He chose Bilbo le Hobbit and read it hungrily, even if his French vocabulary was not sufficiently extensive for him to fully understand. He read it and treasured it nonetheless, hoping that if he could riddle out this book then he might finally understand his father.

Another six months away and Grantaire began to hope that the worst was over, that the monster may have gone for good. 

Shortly after he turned thirteen, a catastrophe befell his little family; one that changed their lives forever. His father lost his job with the MoD.

The change in their lives did not happen all at once. It started small. First of all he was not permitted to touch, answer or otherwise use the telephone without permission. He had to be home within twenty minutes of the end of the school day unless with prior arrangement and permission. That permission was not usually granted and detention was not tolerated. His bedroom door was to be left open at all times, even at night.

As time progressed it was made clear that he was not allowed to bring friends to the house. In turn invitations to other people’s houses slowly dried up. Parents were not prepared to entertain the child of people who apparently disdained their own children.

Similarly his mother became more withdrawn. The father’s violent outbursts extended to her as well as to him. Grantaire remembered with horror the first time he witnessed his father strike his mother. He threw himself at his father’s chest, screaming and shouting, almost insensible of the blows rained down upon him. After that he was determined to keep the focus on him. If he couldn’t keep his father happy he would at least keep his mother safe.

The restrictions on his life increased as he turned fourteen. In order to continue with his Art lessons he was expected to achieve As in his Maths and Science classes.

He was not permitted his own pocket money. His father insisted that everything he needed, food and clothes and text books, was provided and paid for by him. Why on earth would he need his own money?

And so Grantaire was isolated completely. The few boys he had befriended in his first year soon lost interest. His teachers were content that his standard of work was high and so were not duly concerned by his solitude and apparent isolation.

There was some small respite as, a few weeks before the end of Year 10, his father got a job doing shift work at a local factory. It afforded him some predictability in that he finally knew when his father would be in the house. It allowed him, for the first time in a long time, a certain amount of freedom and privacy.

But in this lonely world, he despaired. He was terrified that his father could read his thoughts and learn the truth of his private dreams, that it was not girls but boys who filled his most intimate moments.

He did not, could not, think of his future. He thought only of the next evening, of the next piece of homework, the next test result. He thought of his survival and the survival of his mother.

+

His father’s face was white with anger, his neck red with suppressed rage. He held up the small piece of clear cellophane with one hand as if it was a filthy rag. Grantaire had not been careful enough. It was clearly the wrapping from a packet of cigarettes.

“Did you steal them?”  
He wasn’t going to lie. Lying only made it worse. The father stared at the son and the son forced himself to maintain eye contact.  


“No,” he whispered.  


“Did you steal the money to buy them?”  


“No,” he repeated. The father raised an inquisitive eyebrow. The moment for truth, for explanations had come.

“I traded my lunch with someone at school,” he said carefully. He had been doing it for at least a year now. Every Monday he would pass them his lunch in return for a pack of ten cigarettes that would last him the week. He cursed himself for being so careless with that small piece of translucent plastic. The father stared at him for a moment, lowering his arm and placing the offending article on the desk.

“Take your shirt off and turn around,”

Grantaire swallowed but obeyed immediately. He raised his arms to rest on the sides of his head and waited. He could hear his father shifting behind him, removing his belt. He took a deep breath and waited.

Ten strokes. They stung mercilessly, biting into his skin. He bit down hard on his lip, focussing entirely on not moving, keeping his arms where they were and absolutely determined not to cry out. He could not stop the muffled groans or the hot tears that sprung behind his eyes. But he was dismayed it was only ten. He had gotten off lightly and he knew it which meant only one thing. There was worse to come.

“I work hard to put food in your mouth. It is nothing short of theft to give that food away.” The voice boomed behind him. “As you obviously cannot be trusted with the food I provide you shall not eat anything unless I am personally there to witness its consumption."

In the morning his father had left the house earlier than usual. This would normally have been welcome but today he knew it meant going to school hungry and that he wouldn’t eat until this evening – and even that was not guaranteed.

His mother tried to press an apple into his hands but he shook his head. They both knew that somehow it would be discovered that he’d eaten and that would just make things worse. He pressed a kiss to his mother’s delicate cheek and headed out to another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was both easy and difficult to write but a relief to put it out there. 
> 
> It is not my intention to cause distress to anyone - it is important to understand where R comes from, what he experiences before Enjolras wonders into his life. It is also important to remember that Enjolras doesn't know any of this.
> 
> I'm also trying to convey that there are confused feelings as to his relationship with his father. It would be so much easier to hate him if he was horrific and violent and horrible all the time. But that's not how it was. Somewhere in there is a man who was happy to have a son, who probably loved him in his own totally brain-boggling way and that it is harder to deal with the abuse from someone who apparently loves you than from someone you know has always hated you.


	4. An Unexpected Alliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras steps in at a most unexpected moment.
> 
> This is set about a week before the last few paragraphs of the previous chapter.

The first week of October arrived with a fanfare of bad weather. The harsh strip lighting in the classroom reflected off the windows, the black sky behind providing an eerie back drop. Registration was just about to begin as Enjolras struggled, soaking wet, into the classroom. 

Across the classroom he noted that Grantaire was quiet and still today. His eyes were fixed on the desk in front of him and his hands, usually busy with a pencil or a book, were laid flat against the wooden surface.

Enjolras muttered a quick apology to the form tutor as he shuffled through the tables to his seat. As he moved to sit down, he knocked against the table and Grantaire’s bag flopped onto the floor, causing something small and cylindrical to roll out and rattle across the floor to the front of the classroom. Both Enjolras and Grantaire followed its progress across the floor.

The form tutor stopped talking, her head snapping down to the cause of the noise. She bent down to retrieve the object and as she came up Enjolras could see it was a small tube of concealer. 

“Who’s is this?” her voice was sharp. The use of make up in school was something of a sore topic at the moment, with girls being sent off to the bathrooms to wash their faces on a daily basis.

She looked in the direction from which the offending item had come and suddenly regretted her tone. Looking back at her, one slightly panicked and the other confused, were Enjolras and Grantaire. Her eyes flicked back to the item of make-up as if to confirm that she was not mistaken. Out of the corner of her eye she was aware of the rest of the form craning their necks to get a look at the two suspects. She cleared her throat.

Enjolras chanced a glance at Grantaire out of the corner of his eye and observed his frozen shoulders and dark eyes. He looked like someone trapped and Enjolras suddenly felt incredibly sorry for him. Grantaire was enough of an outcast without all the mockery and humiliation that would come with being discovered experimenting with makeup at school. Enjolras took a deep breath.

“It’s mine”

The teacher raised her eyebrow suspiciously.

“It’s for my after-school theatre group” he lied, confidently. There was a beat while she sized up the two boys in front of her. One looking sickly green and guilty as hell, the other looking relaxed and certain. She sighed.

“See me after.” She tucked the item into her desk drawer out of sight.

+

“Make up is strictly forbidden in school,” the tutor lectured. Enjolras met her gaze evenly. “That rule is for both girls and boys.”

“I’m not wearing any at the moment. It was not my intention for it to leave my bag.”

She pursed her lips as if trying to decide whether it was worth calling him out on his blatant lie from earlier. He could smell victory as she set her shoulders. She handed him the concealer.

“Do not bring it in again.”

+

He found Grantaire standing against his locker looking like he was about to be sick. At sight of Enjolras he started forward and then pulled back as if held by an invisible coil.

“Why did you do that?” his voice was quiet.

“I don’t know,” Enjolras answered, honestly. Because now, outside of the stuffy form room, facing a very haunted-looking yet grateful Grantaire, he could not for the life of him say what it was that made him step in. They had hardly said two nice words to each other all term. “But here you are. Try not to let it escape again.” Enjolras handed the concealer back to its rightful owner who swiftly stowed it into his bag. ”Perhaps a pencil case would be a safer location” Enjolras suggested, before turning to go.

“Wait!”

Enjolras turned.

“Don’t… don’t you want to know what it’s for?” Grantaire looked incredulous. He was certain he would have a high price to pay for this act of self-sacrifice. Yet Enjolras just looked at him blankly. 

After a moment he said simply “Your life choices are your own. It’s nobody’s business unless you choose to tell them.” 

Grantaire was too dumbstruck to answer and instead watched him walk away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapter updates in one night! Phew!
> 
> Just for context, R uses to his mother's concealer to try and hide the worst of his bruises so that the purple and red don't show through his shirt.
> 
> Next chapter will be happier, I promise!


	5. Latin and Lunch times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Shoving him roughly up against the wall, Grantaire pressed hot, hungry kisses to Enjolras’s lips and the young blonde could barely suppress his groan of desire. He fisted his hands through those deliciously soft, black curls and bit down hard on the other boy’s bottom lip, feeling a flush of satisfaction at the gasp he produced."
> 
> Enjolras and Grantaire are as bad as each other and there is a History project.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for blood and some violence/abuse
> 
> This is set two days after R's father finds out about the cigarettes.

Shoving him roughly up against the wall, Grantaire pressed hot, hungry kisses to Enjolras’s lips and the young blonde could barely suppress his groan of desire. He fisted his hands through those deliciously soft, black curls and bit down hard on the other boy’s bottom lip, feeling a flush of satisfaction at the gasp he produced.

Grantaire's hands were everywhere, those long talented fingers skimming over Enjolras's back, stroking delicately down his chest to his hips and finally…

Enjolras jerked awake suddenly, almost falling out of bed as he scrambled to reach the bedside lamp. His heart pounded loudly in his chest and he was dimly aware of the stickiness of his thighs and sheets. _Oh god, that hasn't happened in a while_. 

He fought his way out of the duvet, managing to exit his bed and stumble across the landing towards the bathroom. He was somewhat comforted by the silence from the rest of the house. 

He threw the lock on the door and shakily made his way to the sink. Running the cold tap, he relished the delicious sensation of the water against his face and neck, bringing clarity back to his fuzzy brain. He sighed, frustrated with the places his mind went when he relinquished control at night.  
  
In the week since he had spoken up for Grantaire in registration things had been... strange. He had been watching the boy more closely, though he wasn’t entirely sure why or what signs he was looking for. For the first two days he had seemed outright terrified, as though waiting for the other shoe to drop. Enjolras had tried to reassure him with a smile but he wasn't sure how successful he was being. He’d even tried to be kinder to the boy, being nicer to him in class, arguing less, taking a back seat whenever Grantaire proffered a less than positive opinion. 

Before all this had happened, when he had mostly communicated in glares and admonishments, Grantaire had responded with a laugh, a grin and a gleeful shake of the shoulders. Whenever they had debated (argued) in History Grantaire had matched him with relish, delighting in infuriating his classmate by ripping his thoughts to shreds and offering his own insightful and frustratingly valid points. Now, he reacted to smiles by withdrawing into himself. Grantaire seemed nervous and unsure when faced with Enjolras's benevolence. Enjolras found himself missing the quirk of those lips, the flash of those eyes. 

Then something rather unexpected happened. He found himself noticing the curve of Grantaire's throat, the way he would rub the back of his neck and tug his curls when puzzling through a Maths problem. He observed the gentle grace of his wrists, how he held his fingers when he sketched something. He saw how those eyes would focus to a pinpoint when he was concentrating. He couldn't look away from the way the crisp white shirt fitted across the other boy's shoulders, how it shifted across his hips when he walked. 

Enjolras stared at himself in the mirror. He was in so much trouble. 

_Come on_ , he chided himself, _we have exams to pass and a life to work towards. We don't have time for this_! 

“This” being an undeniable and frankly embarrassing crush on a certain curly-haired misanthropist of his acquaintance. 

With a final splash of water, he switched off the tap and returned to his room. He swiftly swapped his boxers for a clean pair and climbed back in bed. He'd deal with the rest in the morning. 

\+ 

Grantaire tried to focus on the canvas in front of him but it was proving rather difficult as his stomach kept clenching and cramping in protest. He had not been permitted to eat anything at all yesterday and he’d had no breakfast again today. He had a miserable lunch hour to look forward to with only water to try and fill him up and a book to take his mind off his hunger. He hoped he might be allowed dinner this evening otherwise he didn’t know how he would survive. 

Keeping his attention away from the angry beast that gnawed away at his insides, he let his mind drift towards Enjolras. It was quite possible he was in love, or maybe it was just lust, he wasn’t sure: whatever it was that plagued him in his most private moments.  
  
He thought of those piercing eyes that met his so evenly, the skin of marble, the well sculpted nose and cheek bones. He thought of those fingers - so clever - the way he clenched his hands when he appeared especially passionate about something. He thought of that brilliant mind, the articulated arguments, those ridiculously positive ideals the boy clung to. He saw them all and rejoiced in them. 

It was so refreshing to have someone look at him, really look at him and with such a power and emotion, even if it was usually negative. It had been marvellous to have that attention on him, but now, in the wake of last week, things were horribly different.  
  
Grantaire felt so lost. He awaited with dread the day this dear young god would get bored and the anger and frustration he currently inspired would melt to apathy and indifference. He feared it had already started to happen. The forceful emotional glares were absent, replaced with half smiles. He would rather have Enjolras’s anger than pity. 

Enjolras had stopped debating with him in class as well, backing down from discussions in such a way that even the History tutor had noticed. Grantaire tugged his hair in frustration, setting his brush down as his inspiration today was greatly lacking. The day could not end fast enough.  
  
+  
  
Enjolras wasn't headed anywhere in particular when he spotted Grantaire sitting under a tree near the science block at lunch. He paused for a moment, consciously taking in how the other boy's curls tumbled forward over his face, obscuring the look of concentration as he read. Enjolras shook himself out of it, making an effort to push the memories of last night’s dream out of his head. He was about to march on when the boy in question looked up, _looked right at him_ as if he had heard his thoughts. Enjolras found himself walking over to him rather than away as previously intended. Grantaire eyed him with apprehension.  
  
"May I sit here?"  
  
He was grateful that his voice managed to come out half way normal. Grantaire was obviously surprised but nodded and even shuffled over a little to make room. Enjolras pulled a lunchbox of sandwiches out of his bag and settled himself on the grass. After a moment he cleared his throat.  
  
“So, Grantaire…”  
  
Grantaire flinched, his eyes scrunching shut for a moment. “Don’t call me that,” he muttered.  
  
“What?” Enjolras was thrown, the next sentence frozen on his tongue. Had he pronounced it wrong?  
  
The other boy sighed, squared his shoulders and fixed Enjolras with a look. “That. My name. Just… don’t” he shook his head and returned to his book.  
  
Enjolras didn’t know what to say. His throat was dry. This entire conversation was going down the drain before it had even begun.  
  
“Look,” he closed his book and looked back up at Enjolras, “call me anything; Oi You would be fine. Or Taire or Aire or Grant if you’re a total fucking sadist,” that last bit was said through gritted teeth with a fixed painful grin on his face, “but I don’t need the full fanfare of my name from your lips, Apollo.”  
  
“Apollo?”  
  
Grantaire blushed and returned to his book. Enjolras decided to leave it for now.  
  
“Okay, so you’d prefer a nickname, that’s cool...” he mused for a moment, then a thought struck him. “Aire as in ‘a French letter’?”  
  
Grantaire turned to stare at him again before snorting into laughter. Enjolras, realising too late what he had just said, had the decency to blush. When Grantaire finally managed to regain some control of himself he said “yeah, but I wouldn’t call it that too loudly if I were you.” Enjolras, still blushing, gave him a playful bump on his shoulder.  
  
“Ok, yes, very good. I think we’ll go with R then, shall we?”  
  
“Fine” said R, still grinning wildly.  
  
“So, **_R_** , what are you reading?”  
  
R passed the book over to him. He cast his eye over the page.  
  
“'si tam sapiens es, tu fac illud,’ imquit Ronaldus hirriens” The words were unfamiliar in his head so he flipped over to the cover looking for clues and nearly choked on his sandwich.  
  
“'Harrius Potter et Philosophi Lapis’ - you're reading Harry Potter in Latin?!" Enjolras was incredulous but R simply chuckled. He took his book back and Enjolras saw R’s gaze briefly settle on the sandwich in his hand for a moment before quickly looking away as if embarrassed.  
  
“So, why are you reading it?”  
  
“Because I can,” R replied. “Because it’s fascinating. Reading a text like that in another language is always going to be good for your vocabulary and practising the different declensions. It’s also really interesting to see how it has been translated.” R’s eyes were shining and Enjolras couldn’t help but smile.  
  
“I’ve also got the first three in French,” he continued, his voice somewhat shy. “I’d love to get Goblet of Fire, though. I want to see how that translates.”  
  
“But what’s the point?” He finished his sandwich, licking his thumbs and dusting the crumbs off his sweater. R considered for a moment before replying.  
  
“You get to see all the cultural references from a different point of view. Rowling is very talented with her use of the English language, with a lot of the names being based on Latin or metaphorical or onomatopoetic in nature. They won’t necessarily come across the same way in another language. Take the first book; in French it is called ‘Harry Potter a l’ecole des Sociers’”  
  
Here Enjolras broke in with a look of bemusement. “What does ‘Philosopher’s Stone’ translate to?”  
  
“La Pierre philosophale” They both laughed.  
  
“I can see why they left it out of the title” chortled Enjolras. He reached down to his lunch box.  
  
“Want one?” he asked as delicately and nonchalantly as he could muster. He caught the flash of something in R’s eyes and the slight tension in his shoulders but he forced himself to smile while offering the box. “My mother always makes too many, I think she’s trying to fatten me up. They’ll just go back home with me, otherwise.” For a moment he was almost certain R was going to refuse. But then he reached forward and picked out a sandwich with a stiff “cheers”. Enjolras watched him bite into it without even checking the filling. He suddenly felt very sad inside.  
  
“So what’s “Hogwarts” in Latin?” he said, trying to steer their conversation back to the jovial atmosphere of before. R was already laughing with a mouthful of sandwich.  
  
“Hogvartenses”  
  
“And in French?”  
  
“Poudlard”  
  
“No! You’re definitely making that up!” He rocked back, clutching himself laughing while R laughed too, swearing that it was true.  
  
“It get’s better. The Sorting Hat is called ‘le Choixpeau Magique’, spelt C H O I X. How clever is that?!”  
  
“Well, the French certainly like their puns!” agreed Enjolras. A comfortable happy silence descended over the pair as their laughter died naturally away.  
  
"So, is Harrius Potter on the Latin GCSE syllabus?"  
  
"Huh, I wish. My class are currently murdering the Aeneid. Neanderthals!”  
  
“Have you read that in French?” Enjolras teased. He was enjoying this so much, seeing R lit up with the joy of discussing something he was so passionate about. R laughed.  
  
“It’s certainly a thought!” he agreed.  
  
Somewhere in the distance, they heard the bell sound for the end of lunch. They both scrambled up off the ground and made their way back to Main School and their joint History lesson.  
  
As Enjolras held the door for R, he felt his insides contract as he realised that he had just had his first proper conversation with someone in this whole wretched school that hadn’t ended in an argument or with someone laughing and walking away. He suddenly felt less hollow.  
  
+  
  
“Right, I want you to divide into pairs”  
  
The History teacher peered over his glasses at the rest of the class as they groaned, shuffled and assembled themselves as instructed. As usual, Enjolras found himself paired off with R.  
  
“I want you to work together over the next few days to come up with at least five reasons why the Munich Putsch was a failure and why it could be seen as a success. On Thursday you’ll be presenting your work to the class.”  
  
 _Well that was something_ , Enjolras thought. At least they didn’t have to agree. If there was one thing he and R did well it was find opposing arguments. He also hoped it would be a good opportunity to build on the success of lunch time.  
  
When the bell rang he took a deep breath and approached his classmate.  
  
“So, did you want to come over to mine to work on the project?” he asked, his hands folded behind his back to keep them still.  
  
R blinked back at him. He seemed slightly awkward, almost embarrassed.  
  
“I can’t tonight” he said quietly, eyes on the floor. “Maybe tomorrow, but… I have to ask. You know, ask my parents.” There was a pause and R shifted from one foot to the other.  
  
“Ok, well, why don’t I give you my number and you can text me either way?” Enjolras could feel the heat rise in his cheeks. He felt his stomach swoop when he saw R twist his mouth.  
  
“I don’t have a mobile” the boy confessed. Enjolras looked stricken, like he could sink through the floor right now.  
  
“Oh, ok. That’s no problem. I guess I’ll just see you tomorrow then,” and then he half ran out of the classroom to his locker before he could wedge his foot any further into his mouth. Behind him, R sighed heavily.  
  
+  
  
Grantaire forced his feet one in front of the other, determined not to dawdle and end up late home. The sandwich Enjolras has given him had been the first thing he'd eaten in 42 hours but now it felt like a lifetime ago and he was distinctly dizzy. He leant against the frame of the front door, waiting to be let in. Naturally his request for his own front door key had been denied. He sighed with relief as his mother answered the door. From the living room, he heard the low grumble of the TV sounding strange through his ringing ears. His mother pulled him into a hug.  
  
"Might go take a shower" he mumbled into his mother's shoulder. She swept his curls out of his eyes and patted his back gently.  
  
"Ok, love" she whispered.  
  
He hoped a shower would clear his head. He tried not to think of food as he struggled out of his shirt, being careful to hang it in the correct place in the wardrobe. He folded his trousers and put them away in the drawer, before peeling off his socks hastily stowing them into the laundry basket.  
  
He stumbled into the bathroom, nausea suddenly overtaking him. His vision went cloudy and he became aware of the floor rushing up to meet him. From his new vantage point he stared up at the white milky expanse of the bathroom ceiling. He felt out of tune with the rest of the universe. Sounds were muted, vision was fuzzy and he was only vaguely aware that he must have hit the bath on his way to the floor. He thought it might be nice to stay down here for a while. Then a shadow fell over him.  
  
He was aware of movement, of being pulled upwards. Then pain. So. Much. Pain. A sharp, scraping sensation in his arm that suddenly wrenched him back to the surface of consciousness. Suddenly the volume of his world was turned back to full but everything else remained at an agonisingly slow pace. He was aware of his father spitting words at him. He barely made out "weak... pathetic... useless". In this state he just didn't have the energy to be frightened, to prepare himself for whatever was about to happen. Or worry about what had already happened. While his father ranted, it occurred to him that he should find out the source of the pain. He turned his head to look at his left arm.  
  
He was surprised to observe a broken shaving mirror by his forearm. He supposed he must have knocked it when he fell. The glass of that mirror was currently being pressed, was being  _ground_ , into the top of his arm just below his shoulder, held there by his father's furious hand. The sight of the blood, his blood, flowing freely down his arm to the crook of his elbow brought him back to the rest of reality with a jolt. 

He turned to look at the man above him. Whatever his expression, it stopped the man, mid-flow. He released Grantaire from his grasp, allowing him to slip back to the floor. They stared at each other for a moment. Grantaire was still not afraid. He felt absolutely nothing. He was empty. There was a moment; a passing of something.  
  
"Clean this lot up!" His father shouted, turning to exit the bathroom. "And don't you dare get blood on the towels."  
  
After he cleaned the mess on the bathroom floor he took a quick shower, doing his best to pick as much of the glass of the mirror from his body as possible. Every piece removed from his arm sent a tingle to his finger tips. The whole area was a mess and he wasn’t sure how to patch it up. He had no idea if his parents owned a first aid kit. In the end he used kitchen roll and gaffer tape to form a makeshift bandage, if only so he doesn’t get blood on his clothes.  
  
He lay down on his bed, his back protesting where he’d slammed into the bath. Already he had a vibrant bruise there, and on his elbow which had also made contact with the side on his way to the floor.  
  
He let his eyes close and his mind wonder. He thought of Enjolras, thought of what he might be doing right now. He thought about how Enjolras had not expected anything in return for covering for him, for keeping a secret of sorts between them. He thought of how nice their conversation over lunch had been, how he had appeared like an angel (an angel with a withering glare) when he had been at one of his darkest moments. He wished that angel would appear now.  
  
Then he heard the creak of the bottom stair. _Oh god, please - please just give him peace_.  
  
But it was his mother who came into his room and sat down beside him on the bed. She patted his shin gently.  
  
"There's dinner on the table, love."  
  
Downstairs he took his seat between his father and mother at their round kitchen table. His mouth watered at the pasta before him, at his first proper meal in two days. His father frowned at him and Grantaire prepared himself for the lecture that was surely coming. His mind briefly wondered if he would be made to watch his parents eat while his own dinner went cold. Instead his father cleared his throat, thanked his wife for cooking, and signalled that they could all start.  
  
That first bite of pasta was quite possibly the finest thing Grantaire had ever tasted.  
  
"What homework have you got?"  
  
This was normal dinner time conversation; keeping on top of Grantaire and making sure his work is all up to date. Suddenly he remembered Enjolras and the History project. His stomach plummeted.  
  
There was no way, no way on this planet his father was ever going to agree to him working with someone after school. But he knew he had to ask because it's for school. He had to try.  
  
He put down his fork and spoon, took a sip of water and cleared his throat, praying that his voice would come out even.  
  
"I have a Maths exercise and Science prep for tomorrow’s practical. I also have a History project but I can't do that tonight," he pauses as though expecting his father to jump in. When he's allowed to continue he explains "we've been told to work in pairs, to work together."  
  
Grantaire took a deep breath because it’s now or never.  
  
"The person I've been paired with asked if I wanted to work with him on the project tomorrow after school"  
  
He deliberately left the location out of the conversation, hoping that his father would assume it would be at the school or the library.  
  
"This is something the teacher has explicitly asked you to do?" Grantaire nodded feeling rather nervous.  
  
There were two ways this could play out. His father would usually immediately deny any request to go anywhere after school but this was for school work, not leisure. It wasn't for Maths or Science but it wasn't Art or Latin either. If it had been for the latter subjects it would have been a definite no. History was one of those middle-ground subjects that his father vaguely approved of.  
  
He also knew that his father was well aware that his son would never dare ask him something like this so recently after an incident and while he was still in disgrace. Not unless he was absolutely desperate. He watched his father consider for a few more moments. Then the man picked his fork back up and stabbed viciously at a piece of pasta.  
  
"Make sure you are home before six o'clock"  
  
Grantaire couldn’t believe his ears. He wanted to whoop with glee. A whole evening with Enjolras! He suppressed his delight deep within, murmuring a thank you and retuning to his dinner.  
  
When he got back to his bedroom he lay back and closed his eyes, trying to imagine what Enjolras's house was like, what his bedroom was like. He pictured Enjolras in his bedroom, his curly blonde hair all ruffled after removing his sweater... Grantaire ran two fingers softly over his lips, imagining what it must be like to kiss that blonde marble god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was quite long. I hope there aren't any mistakes (please let me know)
> 
> A few "cultural references":  
> Harrius Potter is a thing - I'm lucky enough to be in possession of a first edition and it is one of my most treasured possessions. As are my french editions (unlike poor R, I do have all seven) The French definitely do love their puns.
> 
> "french letter" is an archaic euphemism for condom.
> 
> My next update might take a while as I have a few things on the horizon but I'll try not to keep you waiting too long!


	6. Better Left Unsaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How the afternoon had gone so badly in such a short space of time was beyond him. One moment he’d been sitting in his room, listening to his favourite music with a guy he rather liked having a decent political discussion. Three seconds later he was now begging that guy to unlock the bathroom door."
> 
> In which R spends an afternoon in Enjolras's bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for blood, self harm, suspected eating disorders and abuse.

Enjolras was pleased to see that Aire was smiling when he entered the form room for registration. It was a genuine smile; a rare creature indeed. As he crossed the room to take his seat, he couldn’t help but see that the other boy was paler than yesterday but the grin on his face made it all the way to his soft brown eyes.  
  
"So, about tonight?" Enjolras asked, sensing good news.

"I'm all set to come to yours. If you want, I mean. If that's still ok?" His smile faltered a little, as if fully expecting Enjolras to have changed his mind.

"No, I mean. Yeah. That's great." He couldn't help but smile back as the form tutor called the class to order.

+

Enjolras caught up with him in the corridor at the start of lunch, eager to begin planning their points for History. They moved through the crowd of pupils who were pushing and shoving in all directions. Suddenly R lost his footing and stumbled into a row of lockers. By the time Enjolras turned around to retrieve him the wince of pain that had flashed across his face had been replaced by one of exasperation as he pushed his way against the tide of people.

Enjolras was in full flow about Hitler, the show trial and Mein Kampf, his feet automatically leading both of them towards the canteen. It took him a couple of minutes to notice how quiet Aire was, how he wasn’t attempting to interrupt with counter points like he normally would. Enjolras paused.

"You ok?"

"Yeah, just..." He gestured with his hands wordlessly in the direction of the canteen "I’m not really that hungry.”

 _Oh_. Enjolras narrowed his eyes.

“You should eat something. We have chemistry this afternoon. You can’t be in the lab on an empty stomach, you might faint.” He ignored the grimace that suddenly adorned the other boy’s face.

"Well, I forgot my lunch, ok? So just leave it” R was glaring at his shoes now, his hands shoved deep in his trouser pockets. Enjolras was confused. Why all the fuss about food?

"Come on, I'll get you a sandwich."

Aire dug his heels in, frowning even further.

"I won't be able to pay you back" he muttered to his shoes, the frown giving way to thinly veiled panic. Enjolras sighed and rolled his eyes, hoping to disguise his own concern.

"I don't want you to pay me back. I want you compos mentis for our lab practical this afternoon, which you won't be if you don't eat. Now come on!" R still didn't look very happy.

Five minutes later they were seated at a table with a sandwich and banana each. Enjolras unwrapped his and tucked in while R stared at the table, picking at the packaging and lost in thought. Enjolras observed him with open concern.

"You're not... doing it on purpose are you?" He asked softly. Aire slowly raised his head with a mystified look on his face. "Deliberately not eating? Because instances of anorexia in teenage males..."

"Whoa! I think I can safely promise that I don't have an eating disorder" R's eyes were wide and, as if to make good on his statement, he peeled the banana and took a big bite.

"Satisfied?" The word was muffled through his mouthful of fruit. Enjolras twisted his mouth into a half smile, mollified for now but still pondering the boy before him. R sighed.

"So, you were saying about parallel trials of communists..."

The conversation fell easily back to safer ground.

+

As they turned up the drive way, Aire couldn't help his eyes widening as he took in the veritable palace before him. Enjolras's house was a neat detached property set in a leafy street with a drive way obviously capable of accommodating more than one car. He watched enviously as Enjolras plucked a mess of keys from the bottom of his bag and used them to enter his house, his _home_.

The house was silent. Enjolras chucked his bag on the floor and threw his blazer casually over the post at the bottom of the stairs. R didn't know where to put himself.

"Want a drink?" Enjolras asked as he strode down the hallway. R followed him into a bright and spacious kitchen. It was clean but cluttered, with pans hanging from the ceiling, utensil jars and a spice rack on the surfaces and plates sitting out on the draining board.

Once they were both armed with glasses of squash and a packet of biscuits, Enjolras led them upstairs.

"I have to be back by 6pm, which actually means 5:30pm" he said, answering a question that hadn't been asked. He watched Enjolras shrug.

"That's fine, we can get plenty done it that time," he said, reaching a door on the landing.

Aire’s mouth fell open. Enjolras's room was, well, it was amazing. The first thing he saw was the deep red carpet, followed by the contrasting black bed sheets. In the corner was a desk with a computer -  _an actual computer_  - with a printer. He turned his attentions to the walls which were covered in posters, some of rock bands, others with slogans and messages. He recognised “La Beauté est dans la Rue” from Paris 68 protests. There were postcards, photos and post-it notes blu tacked to the wall above the desk. More than that, there were shelves and shelves of books and a TV nestled on a stand opposite the bed. It was a whole world crammed into one room.

Enjolras flopped down onto a bean bag and started flicking through a CD rack.

"Any preferences?" he asked politely. R, totally overwhelmed, could only shake his head. Enjolras shrugged and chose one at random. A few moments later the guttural cry of a guitar started up.

"This one's ‘Slash n Burn’" he said. R had no idea if that was the song or the band but he thought his brain might be melting. He also knew for sure that here, in this moment, he was in love.

Forty-five minutes later most of the biscuits had gone, R was lying on his front across Enjolras’s bed and they had managed to get enough points down for both “success” and "failure". The atmosphere was relaxed, the conversation flowing and lively.

"I’m not saying that I sympathise with the communists exactly, I just think that the Courts were already showing a clear bias to the right when dealing with insurrections such as this.” Enjolras waved his arms a lot when trying to get his point across. Aire tried not to laugh at the sight of this golden boy gesticulating widely whilst clutching a custard cream.

“But they were both trying to achieve the same thing. What is the difference between the fascists and the communists?” he persisted.

“Apart from Hitler…?” Enjolras raised his eyebrows.

“Oh bullshit, you can’t just wade in with “Hitler” on this! It’s 1923, Hitler’s done fuck all at this point. No one knew he was going to become a genocidal megalomaniac.” Enjolras coughed violently, trying not to choke on his biscuit. He quickly swallowed down some squash before considering a response.

"As with all insurrections it comes down to a group of people trying to over throw another group of people for disagreeing with their point of view. That's often down to injustices, or perceived injustices." He said carefully. “Sometimes it is justified, sometimes it isn’t.”

“How on earth do you quantify that?!” R sat up on the bed, snorting with incredulity. “History is written by the winners. Justification is given in arrears. Those that win are hailed as heroes, those that lose are denounced as terrorists.” Enjolras watched him settle back against the bedroom wall with glinting eyes as he waited for him to respond. His cheeks were flushed and Enjolras pretended not to notice as he stretched up to remove his school sweater. He shook out his hair as he resurfaced back into the room.

Enjolras opened his mouth to continue the conversation when his attention was caught by a mark on R’s school shirt.

“Erm, Aire, you appear to be bleeding.”

He looked down to where Enjolras indicated. Sure enough there were smudges of blood, vibrant against the stark white shirt. For a moment he stared disconnectedly at his own shoulder before he suddenly leapt off the bed and headed for the door, taking Enjolras by surprise. He heard the bathroom door slam.

Enjolras was confused by the apparent over reaction to a little bit of blood. He put his folder down on the bed and went to knock on the door.

“Go away!” R’s voice sounded strained.

“I can’t” he replied lightly, “this is sort of my house.”

There was silence in response.

“Look, please open the door.” More silence.

“I want to help.” This time he did get a response, in the form of an angry shout.

“I don’t need any fucking help.”

Enjolras took a deep breath, rubbing his eyes and leaning against the door frame. How the afternoon had gone so badly in such a short space of time was beyond him. One moment he’d been sitting in his room, listening to his favourite music with a guy he rather liked having a decent political discussion. Three seconds later he was now begging that guy to unlock the bathroom door.

“I just want to make sure that it’s nothing serious.” He tried a slightly firmer tone. He was rewarded by the sound of feet crossing the linoleum.

The door flew open and R’s eyes were wide, a strange madness in his pupils.

“Of course it’s serious! I’m bleeding. Do you have ANY idea how much trouble I’m going to be in for getting blood on my shirt?” His breath was coming out harsh and ragged. Instinctively Enjolras reached out a hand to his shoulder but the boy backed away from him across the small bathroom. Once he reached the tub, he squatted down, curling up with his hands over his head protectively. He seemed to be trying to get a grip on his breathing.

Enjolras walked over and lowered himself down next to him.

“Grantaire” he said softly.

“Please don’t use my name” his voice came out in little more than a whimper.

"I'm sorry" he reached out to touch the brunette’s shoulder and this time his touch was tolerated.

“You don’t understand,” came the muffled reply. _You’re right_ , thought Enjolras, _I don’t_.

“You know, if it’s really that much of a deal, you can always borrow one of my shirts.” He kept his voice nice and low. R removed his hands to peer up at Enjolras through his curls. “I could wash your shirt and have it back to you tomorrow and no one would ever know.” The look of complete befuddlement on Aire’s face would have been funny if it wasn’t so tragic.

Enjolras stood up and held out a hand to R to help him up off the bathroom floor.

“Come on, let’s get you a clean shirt. I’ll take a look at the cause of the blood too, see if it needs a plaster.” He kept his tone light but R stayed where he was. He seemed to be struggling to find words, his eyes were dark and he seemed to be trying to press himself away. Enjolras wondered for a moment if whatever this was about was self-inflicted. R chewed on his lip, as if some internal battle was raging within.

“R?”

“Can you keep a secret?” his voice was hoarse.

“Of course.” He replied, without hesitation. He watched closely as the other boy's posture changed and he seemed to come to some sort of resolution. He slowly reached up and started to unbutton his school shirt.

Initially, Enjolras was relieved not to be confronted by a row of scores from a razor blade. There was a particularly nasty bruise at one elbow, but otherwise no signs of self-harm on the arms. Then his eyes fell upon the make-shift bandage.

"Is that electric tape?" he was aghast. Hardly the most hygienic method of dealing with a wound. The blood had soaked through the kitchen roll before seeping onto the shirt.

"I had to improvise" R shrugged a response. He seemed diminished and broken, looking away from Enjolras and the source of all the fuss.

Enjolras pried the dressing away as gently as he could, revealing a circular mess of broken skin. It looked like he had scuffed his shoulder over a sharp surface. He pouted at the state of it, desperately wondering how on earth R had achieved such an injury but suspecting he wouldn’t get an answer if he did pluck up the courage to ask.

After a moment’s consideration he reached across to the unit of drawers adjacent to the bath and retrieved the first aid kit. He turned back to the patient, resting on the edge of the tub. He gently took hold of R’s wrist to keep his arm still.

+

The inside of R’s head was on fire. He felt panicked and exposed. All his senses were screaming at him. The only thing keeping him grounded to a certain degree was the warmth of Enjolras’s grip. He knew he was on a knife edge, on the verge of his greatest secret being revealed. He supposed his trip into the lockers at lunchtime must have disturbed the scabs that had started to form. Now, he was very nearly overwhelmed by the sensation that he was hurtling down a black hole.

Enjolras’s voice brought him back into the room. He made an effort to look at him, at his eyes, his calm face. “Ok, first of all, let me clean that up properly,” he held up an antiseptic wipe so Aire could see it. “Then I'll just...” Enjolras trailed off, his attention suddenly entirely focussed on something over R’s shoulder.

He turned his head instinctively, only to meet his own eyes looking back at him from the mirror above the sink. A mirror that gave a full and glorious view of his back.

Across the middle, running slightly diagonally from left shoulder to right kidney, was the vibrant black and purple from where he'd hit the bath side yesterday. Underneath that, clear as day but fading green at the edges, were the strap marks from last Sunday. He whipped his head back to look at Enjolras. The marble was frozen more than usual, the only sign of life was that warm hand clutching his wrist, fixing him there and refusing to let him go. It felt like an age before either of them took a breath.

“Well, now you know” he murmered.

The sound of his voice seemed to bring Enjolras out of his trance. His expression was a mixture of confusion and compassion and R hated to see it.

“My father,” he started, swallowing nervously. He felt as though the flood gates were about to open. “He gets frustrated with me when I’m… when I’m not what he wants me to be.” He felt his voice sway dangerously, was aware of him raising his arm to pull his fingers through his hair. “He always detested me because I could not understand mathematics.” He coughed, trying to clear his throat.

“It’s not just that, of course. It’s lots of things. Sometimes I never get to find out what it is.” Another pause. Enjolras still hadn’t said anything, was still staring in disbelief.

"That," he jerked his head over his shoulder "was because he found some cellophane off a fag packet in the bottom of my bag.” Enjolras’s eyes widened even further.

"That," he indicated his shoulder "I think, I might have broken a mirror?"

"Might have?" Enjolras finally found his voice.

"Yeah, I passed out in the bathroom. When I came to he, well. Yeah. He facilitated the glass travelling from the floor to my arm, shall we say." The bitterness in his tone was acidic. Enjolras looked like he was about to be sick.

"You passed out. And your father thought the appropriate response was to cut you with broken glass." R shrugged, looking away.

"Wait, why did you pass out?"

"Because my father currently has me on a "no food" diet.” The casual tone he used was painful to Enjolras’s ears, as though this disturbing behaviour was totally normal. “Your sandwiches and a plate of pasta are all I've had to eat this week."

Enjolras’s instincts began to kick in. The outrage and anger bubbled in his chest. This was appalling. He was controlling his son with food. It was monstrous.

"Everything is about control. About him having it all and me having none" He sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. He was tired. It was too much. Enjolras knowing was just too much, too real.

The greek god in question seemed to jerk into action, focussing back on the immediate problem at hand.

“Like I said, I’ll clean this up.”

+

Back in Enjolras’s bedroom, a new dressing wrapped round his upper arm and a clean shirt on his back, he began to think more clearly. Enjolras pressed into his hands a cup of… _god what was that?_

“Green tea” supplied Enjolras, “with a tablespoon of honey.” R obligingly took a mouthful, trying and failing not to grimace. Silence returned to the room.

“I don't want this to define me.” He looked earnestly at Enjolras, who swallowed down a mouthful of tea.

“This doesn’t define you.” he answered simply. R said nothing, only shaking his head in a gesture of disbelief.

“It doesn’t though,” he insisted. _Not to me_. “Your… your brain defines you,” he gulped, had he revealed too much?

Mercifully, R did not appear to be paying attention to Enjolras’s qualms with quantifying his opinions of him.

“Huh. My brain!” he mutters, more to himself. “The only reason I get good grades is because I know damn well what will happen if I don’t. I slave over every task, every assignment and every test because in his mind it's important that I succeed when in every other possible way he wants me to fail.”

“But, your love of languages, your art,” Enjolras sputtered, “that's not something that can be taught or drummed into you. That comes from within.”

R leaned back on the bed, all his energy expended. A few moments elapsed in more oppressive silence.

"You should tell someone."

"No!"

He leapt off the bed, as if expecting police officers and social workers to come crashing through the bedroom door at any moment.

“You promised! You said you could keep a secret!” His accusing tone found its mark in Enjolras’s heart.

“Yes, and I will. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t tell someone.” he replied firmly.

“And what do you think will happen, exactly.” He began to pace the room, tugging his hands through his hair.

“He’ll be arrested, I’ll get put into care. He gets bailed and returns to that house. To her. I can’t do that.”

“You mean your mother.” It wasn’t a question. Enjolras was overwhelmed with sorrow and compassion but when he raised his eyes to look at R all he saw was blazing hard eyes. 

“Oh, for god’s sake, don’t pity me.” He ceased his pacing to rub his forehead with his fingers. “I may not have much,” he murmered quietly, “but I still have my pride.”

Enjolras couldn’t pretend to understand the person in front of him; this intelligent, befuddling, complicated ball of emotion. He just wanted to hold him and make it all ok. But there was nothing he could do.

"Look, I can take it." R continued. "That? That's nothing."

 _Being beaten black and blue was nothing?_ Enjolras wisely kept this thought to himself.

“But Mum? She’s delicate. So as long as I’m there, as long as he has his punching bag,” Enjolras winced at Aire’s merciless tone “then at least he’ll leave her alone.”

He reached down to grab his bag.

“Look, thanks for patching me up,” he threw it over his shoulder. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

As much as he wanted to, Enjolras couldn’t prevent him from walking out the door.

+

R got to the end of the road before retching into some nearby bushes. He then managed to drag himself all the way back home without further incident. It was his father who answered his knock and let him into the house. He received an approving nod for being home early and presenting his finished History homework. He was sent off upstairs to finish his conclusion report for his Chemistry practical which afforded him some time to not think about Enjolras and all that had happened that afternoon. When he finally crawled into bed, emotionally exhausted, he fell asleep almost instantly.

+

Enjolras couldn’t sleep. He was restless and frustrated and totally pissed off. He was a person of action and he hated this feeling of helplessness. In his mind’s eye he kept seeing those marks and bruises over and over. He couldn’t help wonder what it must have been like, how frightening it must be to have that happen to you.

He re-evaluated his relationship with his own father. While they didn’t have much in common and have rarely seen eye to eye they’ve never actually come to blows. He couldn’t imagine his own father ever striking him, let alone with a belt.

Finally, at two o’clock in the morning, he climbed out of bed and started searching through some of the boxes he was yet to unpack from the move. It took him twenty minutes to find what he was looking for. Having made his plan, he crawled back under the duvet, finally able to sleep now that his course of action was decided.

The following day he made sure he was early to school. He knew R liked to get there early so he could read, though in light of recent discoveries, maybe it was just an excuse to get out of the house. Sure enough, he spotted Aire on a bench near the English block. However, when he saw Enjolras striding purposefully towards him, he gathered up his bag and took off at speed towards the Main building.

“Hey!” he called out but R didn’t even turn around.

Eventually he caught up with him by the lockers. He turned to glare at the blonde boy as he approached.

“Look, I know you don’t want to talk about it…” R’s aggravated sigh confirmed his assumption was correct. “And that’s fine. I just wanted to give you this.” He handed over a carrier bag. R looked at him suspiciously before peering inside. He then held it back out to him with a frown.

“I don’t need your charity” he hissed, trying to keep his voice down but convey his anger at the same time.

“It isn’t charity,” argued Enjolras, just as quietly. “It’s peace of mind. My peace of mind. You won’t leave your family. I respect your choice, but I would be happier knowing you had a way of asking for help if you need it.”

Aire glanced back in the bag at the small mobile phone and charger within. “It’s an old one of mine, but the battery lasts for ages. I’ve put my number in the contacts. You can text me if you need to talk or if you need me to bring my First Aid kit to school. Or for whatever reason. It’s a Pay-As-You-Go sim so when it needs topping up just let me know.”

R still didn’t say anything but looked back down at the bag. Enjolras waited patiently. At last the brown eyes came up to meet the blue. 

“Why are you doing this?” his voice was so tired, heavy with emotion. Enjolras reached out to touch his arm.

“Because you’re my friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, E finally knows the truth. That doesn't mean it is going to magically all get better over night.
> 
> Of course, Enjolras would be a Manic Street Preachers fan!


	7. The Beating of your Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The mornings of the last days of October were foggy and damp and it clung to his face and hair. As he made his way to school he tried to stop his imagination from running away with itself because, really, R was going to need him to be calm and supportive. Enjolras had always prided himself on being good in a crisis. As he turned the last corner it occurred to him that at nearly sixteen he hadn’t really had that many crises to deal with."
> 
> R needs some help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for violence and abuse

It was Tuesday and things weren’t going that great. Enjolras found himself completely distracted and, despite being nearly forty minutes into the Maths lesson, he had so far only managed six of the equations set by the teacher.

“Stop it!” came a hiss from his left.

R didn’t look up from his work but his mouth was set into a grim line.

“What?” Enjolras whispered back, hoping he didn’t look as guilty has he felt. R huffed in reply.

“Stop looking at me like I’m going to spontaneously combust. And don't apologise!” he added. Enjolras closed his mouth, looking back at his page.

Enjolras was not ok. After the initial relief of deciding to try and support his friend had worn off he found himself plagued by a new anxiety. That first weekend after giving Aire his old phone, he had clutched his own almost feverishly, waiting with painful anticipation to see if it would ring. It didn’t. He barely slept at all Sunday night, wondering if R would be in school, what state he might be in, what might have happened over the weekend.

When R strolled nonchalantly into the classroom on Monday Enjolras very nearly throttled him.

“I was worried!” he had snapped at break time. R looked completely befuddled.

“Nothing happened. I didn’t need to text because everything was… dull. As usual” he emphasised the last two words to his disbelieving companion.

“Look, I appreciate this is new for you, but I’ve been living in the trenches for a while now.” He crooked a smile, trying to lighten the atmosphere. “It’s not always broken glass and passing out. It’s been a bit worse than normal the past few weeks.” Enjolras didn’t look convinced.

The truth of it was, his faith in humanity had been shaken to its core and he was taking a while to adapt to this new world he found himself in. He hadn’t been completely green about abuse in the past; he was aware that horrible, unspeakable things happened behind closed doors, often perpetrated by those you would normally expect to protect you. However this was the first time he had to actually deal with something like this.

Before, he had simply assumed that if one found oneself in such a situation, you would alert the appropriate authorities and something would be done, suitable action would be taken to overthrow the obstacle.

All those naïve illusions had been horribly shattered by the revelations in his bathroom. How could he have been so blind? How could he have failed to notice the days when Aire came in paler than usual, how he held himself a certain way, how he sometimes sat stiffly in his chair rather than slumped as was his preference. He felt terribly guilty when he thought how close he had come to the truth before, how Aire had practically offered to tell him everything a clear week before he stumbled upon it by chance, and he had turned his back on him out of some misjudged idea of privacy.

He was also keenly aware that R was the master of hiding his reality and that Enjolras’s discovery of the truth had been something of an accident. He also knew that Aire was a little unhappy about the whole thing. Enjolras found himself scrutinising him with a pensive thoughtfulness, hoping to riddle out any signs that his friend might be hiding something more from him, much to Aire’s increasing frustration.

The teacher cleared his throat.

“Right, I have your results here from last week's test” he began to hand them round the class. Enjolras felt his heart beat a little faster and barely spared a glance to his own paper, instead trying to see Aire’s score.

“What did you get?” he whispered, apprehensively. R twisted his mouth in displeasure at Enjolras’s tone.

“87” he answered, flatly.

“Oh. Is that… good?”

R didn’t reply, he merely sighed and stuffed the paper into his bag while the teacher rattled on about the next assignment. Enjolras did not dare try to restart the conversation until the lesson was safely over.

When the bell finally rang for break, he had to chase after R who was already out of the classroom and down the corridor.

“I’m sorry!” he breathed, finally catching up with him half way across the quad. R stopped briefly to roll his eyes.

“Will you please stop apologising for everything, it really doesn’t become you” he said, shaking his head, before turning to continue walking, although somewhat slower to allow Enjolras to fall into step beside him.

“Look,” he sighed, after a few moments of silence, “the first thing you have to understand is that my life doesn't work like that. There is no system.” He stated the last four words particularly slowly.

“The rules change on a daily basis. Yesterday 87 might have been ok. It may well be ok tomorrow. Today? The only person who knows that is waiting for me at home.” Enjolras kept his mouth shut but his face spoke volumes and R found himself trying desperately to keep the laughter at bay, because really this whole situation was anything but funny.

He knew Enjolras was only trying to understand, to help. He was sure this lovely boy was filled with only good intentions and compassion but he couldn’t stand it. He hated the hurt look in Enjolras’s eyes. The look of disdain and disgust that he had worn for the first few weeks was now replaced with a sorrowful and tragic demeanour that was actually worse than the attempted smiles and benevolence from the week before. R wanted to slap him back to himself. He wanted a normal, lively conversation about anything as long as it was nothing to do with him.

He wanted to talk about the music that Enjolras had played to him, to ask him about the interesting posters in his room. He wanted to find out his thoughts on Nietzsche, Plato and Marx. More than anything he wanted to push him up against a wall and kiss him senseless. He wanted to escape and instead, having Enjolras know just seemed to make the whole thing worse instead of better.

He rubbed his palms over his eyes in frustration.

“Look, if we talk about this, can you promise me that you’ll ask all your questions in one go and get it out of your system? Because I’m not sure how much of this I can take.” Enjolras nodded mutely.

“Come on, I know a place.”

He led them to a quiet spot behind the Art building where, ironically, he used to go to smoke. It was quiet, secluded and perfect for having this kind of conversation. He leaned against the wall and looked at the blonde expectantly. Enjolras appeared to be thinking very deeply about what he wanted to say so R gave him a few moments.

“You say there isn’t a system. Does that mean you never know what’s going to happen until it does?”

R thought for a moment, his mind wondering over some of the many incidents in the past.

“There are some fairly obvious ground rules that definitely provoke a response. Things like keeping my room clean, my clothes neat, my stuff away. My grades have to be high, especially in the subjects that my father sees as important. I wouldn’t like to test the theory, but I imagine a C in Art would not provoke the same response as a C in Chemistry or Physics.” Enjolras nodded. He felt like he should be taking notes.

“Keeping out of the way, keeping my head down. Although he does insist on eye contact if he’s addressing me.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “Not answering back. Being home on time, doing my homework, not getting into trouble at school.” He paused the chew his lip. “Things like that are when he’s controlled. Like, with the smoking.” He suppressed a shiver and swallowed, wishing he had a cigarette to keep his fingers busy and his nerves at bay. “He knows what he’s doing, really focussed. Times like that he sometimes makes me count the blows to reinforce the point, just to be an arse.” He closed his eyes briefly.

“Other times, the times when he’s out of control… those are the worst and the most unpredictable. That’s what happened with the mirror. He goes into a sort of frenzy as the red mist descends.”

“Has he done that sort of thing before?” Enjolras whispered. R looked down at the floor, nodding slowly, but offering no further details. Enjolras’s stomach twisted into a knot and decided at that moment that he actually doesn’t want to know. He looked back at Aire who appeared to be completely lost, his eyes looking way into the distance, past Enjolras’s shoulder.

“You never see the whole picture. You never see what it was that pissed him off. Maybe someone hummed too loudly on the bus to work or the traffic lights were too slow. Maybe someone got his parking space at the supermarket. All of that stuff is out of my control. Everything is out of my control.” He suddenly snapped back to reality.

“So please, stop trying to work out the system because I'm telling you now there isn't one.”

+

Enjolras didn’t know if he felt better or worse than he did before. He thought maybe talking to R further about it would help but instead it felt all raw and uncomfortable again.

Sitting down in the canteen, he snapped out of his reverie as Aire produced a lunch box from his bag.

“Apparently I’ve learnt my lesson” he muttered lightly. Enjolras tried to smile but didn’t quite pull it off, resulting in a sigh of resignation from his table companion who proceeded to take a savage bite from his sandwich.

“So, you’re a loony leftie, right?” he said, swallowing his sandwich and sending a challenging grin in Enjolras’s direction. The blonde gave him a puzzled look in return.

“All those posters in your bedroom.” He qualified, taking a sip from his water bottle.

“If by ‘loony leftie’ you mean I believe in equality for all people irrespective of their gender, race or sexuality and abhor the patriarchal oppression of the rich few over the impoverished many, then yes” he replied dryly. “Why,” he said, eyeing Aire with suspicion, “who would you vote for?”

“I wouldn’t” he answered gleefully. Enjolras nearly choked.

“Apart from the fact that they are all as corrupt and ridiculous as each other, not to mention that they are practically the same party hovering around the safe centre but with various different colour schemes; and ignoring the fact that quote-unquote ‘democracy’ in this country is so fucked up the only way to fix it would be to tear down the whole institution and start from scratch…” he paused momentarily for breath, enjoying the effect his words were having on Enjolras’s face which had turned a vibrant red.

“I’m not old enough” he finished lightly. Enjolras outright glared at him.

“You are very cynical for one so young,” Enjolras replied haughtily. R barked a laugh, relishing that familiar loosening of his chest at the sight of his darling greek god so displeased with his little speech.

“I must protest, I am not a cynic.” He said, placing his hand to his heart as though mortally offended. “I am an agnostic nihilist.” Enjolras raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not convinced there’s a ‘nothing’ in which not to believe in the first place.”

+

The rest of that week had passed by uneventfully. With Half Term on the horizon, the teachers piled on the homework. Enjolras finally seemed to be recovering more of his usual humour, returning to his challenging temperament and indulging his friend’s devious attempts to wind him up. Although it bothered him slightly that the times they got on the best were when they were mid-argument, he couldn’t help but recognise how much his friend seemed to get from these heated debates, how his cheeks flushed and his eyes glinted with a smirk and a chuckle.

On Friday he patted R on the shoulder as they parted, wishing him a pleasant break and trying not to think of what it must be like to be stuck in the house with a man whose fuse was of an unpredictable length.

He forced himself to enjoy his own Half Term, trying not to fidget with his phone or wondering if everything was ok. He knew now that R had hidden the phone under some floorboards in the back of his wardrobe with it switched off to preserve the battery, so texting his friend himself was not really an option.

He had felt momentarily guilty when R had confessed that the first few nights in possession of the phone he had slept with it stuffed into the waistband of his boxers while he sought a better and more permanent hiding place. He was far too terrified to put it anywhere else in case his father might stumble upon it. However, its new home seemed to be ideal as the carpet looked undisturbed, the whole deception capped perfectly with an innocently placed pair of shoes.

He also tried to ignore the growing ache in his chest, the black hole that had appeared well before any of the revelations regarding Aire’s home life. Although he couldn’t prevent his mind from wandering at night, in the daylight hours he pushed down those feelings, acutely aware of their inappropriateness in light of recent events. His friend was surely going through enough without dealing with the attentions of a love-sick schoolboy.

He shook himself at the mention of the L word.

 _You see_ , he mentally chastised himself, _this is just the sort of nonsense we need to avoid_!

+

It was 10 o’clock on Sunday night. Enjolras was curled up on his bed, reading Camus’s _The Plague_ , when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

 _R: can u meet early tomorrow – bring kit_.

Enjolras’s blood froze. He paused for a moment. Should he text back? Maybe R had already turned his phone off. He didn’t want to ring him in case it caught the attention of his father and put him in an even worse situation. In the end he sent a quick message.

_E: sure, what time?_

He waited nervously, wondering if he would get a response. After a few moments it buzzed again.

_R: 7:45 at school_

+

Enjolras wasn’t sure how he slept that night, only knowing that he must have dropped off at some point because, before he knew it, his alarm was wrenching him from sleep. He had a quick wash, pulled on his uniform and shoved his first aid kit into his school bag with all his homework. He then took off out of the front door, much to the confusion of his parents as he hadn’t even had breakfast yet.

The mornings of the last days of October were foggy and damp and it clung to his face and hair. As he made his way to school he tried to stop his imagination from running away with itself because, really, R was going to need him to be calm and supportive. Enjolras had always prided himself on being good in a crisis. As he turned the last corner it occurred to him that at nearly sixteen he hadn’t really had that many crises to deal with.

There was a shadow in the fog outside the school gates. From the hunch of the shoulders he could tell it was Aire. He didn’t even have a coat on, instead wearing a t-shirt over his school trousers, with his blazer over one arm. Enjolras jogged up to him.

“Hey,” he said as a form of greeting. Now that he was up close he could see the black bags under R’s eyes, and his skin was so pale he seemed to glow in the dark. All his questions died in his throat. Instead he reached out a hand to gently squeeze his friend’s arm above the elbow.

“Hi,” R coughed and then shivered in the cold. “Let’s go in I’m freezing.” His voice was rough and low.

There were a couple of cars belonging to particularly dedicated teachers in the car park and the side door to the Main Building was unlocked. They slipped in and R led them down the corridor to the bathrooms. The school was eerily quiet, with most of the place in darkness.

As they stepped into the boy’s toilets, Enjolras fumbled on the wall to find the switch. As light flooded the room, he blinked, giving his eyes a few minutes to adjust to the glare of the strip lighting. He saw R wince as he walked towards one of the cubicles, before turning his head back to Enjolras indicating he should follow. Enjolras was now in business mode, his face calm and composed.

With a bit of shuffling, they both squeezed into the space, setting Enjolras’s bag down on the closed toilet lid. He gave R a moment to collect himself. Whatever had happened, he didn’t want to make it worse with interrogations. He needed Aire to be ready and comfortable and to do whatever he needed to do in his own good time.

“Last night,” he said eventually, “He came home drunk. I… I don’t think I’m bleeding anymore." he gulped. Enjolras held his breath. "But I was wondering if you could clean me up, perhaps some antiseptic cream… I dunno, you better take a look.” Enjolras nodded in acquiescence and R turned around to take his t-shirt off. He didn’t quite manage to suppress the groan of pain as he stretched up to pull the t-shirt over his head. Similarly, Enjolras couldn’t help the gasp of horror at what he saw.

Aire’s back was a total mess.

Across the top of the shoulder blades and all the way down to the waist were thin, raised welts of angry red, with bruises blossoming in strange triangular patterns and gouges here and there that had already scabbed over. The heat coming from the broken skin was almost palpable. This was no controlled beating with a belt. This was… this was torture.

R braced himself against the wall of the cubical, his head resting on his forearms, apparently relieved to have removed his t-shirt. It must have rubbed terribly on the walk here. Enjolras reached forward with a finger, as if to touch one of the welts, but stopped before he made contact.

“What did he use?” he whispered.

“A length of cable flex.” R muttered into his arms. “With the plug still attached.” That explained the gouges.

R shuddered with the memory of the night before, the unadulterated fury, how he had curled up into a ball against a wall while his father hit him over and over until he couldn’t feel anything, until he was lost in a black cloud, almost floating out of his body to watch the pathetic scene below. When finally it had ceased, when the monster had let rip one final snarl and had slammed out of the house, he had crawled to the bathroom and sat in the shower under a flow of cold water, trying to drown out the sounds of his mother’s sobbing from the next room. Then he had sent his text to Enjolras.

Enjolras pursed his lips. Where on earth did he start? His eyes roved over the damage, looking for anything that might need particular attention. Some of the gouges looked like they might require a steristrip or two, but other than that it mostly needed cleaning and a way to stop any clothes from chaffing.

Well, first thing’s first.

“Here,” he held out a box of paracetamol and a bottle of water. He waited for Aire to swallow two tablets down before starting the rifle through his first aid kit. He tore open a few packets of antiseptic wipes.

“This is going to sting” he warned. R grunted his understanding, but still made a strangled noise at the first touch. Enjolras set his shoulders and grimly persevered. This was helping, what he had agreed and signed up to. He wouldn’t shy away now.

He made his way as gently and carefully as he could down his friend’s back, trying to not disturb where the skin had already started to heal. Once he was done, he unscrewed the cap from the antiseptic cream. He cast a quick glance to R. His eyes were closed but no longer screwed tight. Enjolras murmured a warning about the temperature of the cream, but under his fingers he felt R sigh as it relieved the worst of the burning.

Enjolras swallowed as R shifted slightly, the muscles of his shoulders twisting beneath his skin. This was definitely the wrong time to be thinking about that. Instead he set his mind to working how best to apply dressings. He could patch up the two or three worst gashes but if he used surgical tape it would bisect a few of the welts which may antagonise and cause further discomfort. He puzzled it out for a few moments, digging through his kit while giving the cream time to soak in. Eventually his hands closed around the triangular bandage used for supporting injured arms and wrists. He set it to one side and pulled out the steristrips. After applying them as needed, he went to open the cubical door. R seemed to wake from his daze and turned in confusion.

“I’m just going to run this under some cold water,” he explained, squeezing out of the tight space. He shook out the bandage and held it under the tap before wringing it out thoroughly and returning to the cubical. He laid it gently against R’s back so that it covered everything completely. He fixed it loosely in place with some surgical tape on fresh, untainted skin.

“You don’t mind a slightly damp back for a bit, do you?” he asked. R, who had resumed his previous pose against the door, shook his head.

“Then you’re all set.” R muttered a thank you, released a final sigh and attempted to straighten up.

He twisted round so that he was facing Enjolras. His chest rose and fell jaggedly with the effort and movement. Enjolras was suddenly acutely aware of their proximity. He could smell R’s skin, a mixture of soap, sweat and antiseptic. He dropped his eyes, running his gaze along Aire’s collar bone and the pale skin at the base of his neck. He heard the sharp intake of breath and forced his gaze back up.

All the feelings he’d been holding in that morning started to bubble and twist in his chest. All that anger that anyone could inflict that sort of damage upon another person, much less their own son; all of it welled up within him. He looked into those beautifully expressive eyes and before he could really process what he was doing, before he could make a measured decision or consider whether this was actually a good idea or an appropriate time, he leant forward slightly to press a kiss to R’s lips.

He pulled back, the full force of what he had just done crashing down upon him like bricks. He looked at the boy before him, expecting anger or confusion, perhaps even revulsion. Instead he saw himself reflected in the boy’s blown pupils. And then R was upon him.

He found himself pushed gently back against the wall of the cubical, with soft hands cupping the sides of his face and chapped lips against his own. He felt R suck at his bottom lip, while he brought his own hands to the boy’s hips, allowing his thumbs to draw circles there as he drank in the sensation and warmth of this body pressed up against him. He stomach somersaulted and it took an awful lot of effort not to wrap his arms around his waist, wrap around and never let go.

Suddenly the door to the bathroom banged open and shouts and laughter filled the room. The two boys froze against each other, Enjolras’s eyes flying open in terror. R pulled away just far enough, resting their foreheads together but otherwise remaining stock still. They held their breath, waiting for discovery, two hearts pounding and praying that the two pairs of feet visible under the cubical door would go unnoticed. Eventually the owners of the noise departed the room with a final shout and the bathroom dissolved back into silence. 

Enjolras released his breath slowly while R let out a soft laugh.

“I’ll, erm, I’ll go first.” Enjolras muttered, releasing the lock on the door and squeezing through the gap and leaving R to put his school shirt on. He paused a moment to look at himself in the mirror. He was flushed pink, his hair was askew and his lips were kissed red. He patted down his hair as much as he could, trying to look a little less dishevelled, before casting a final glance at the toilet cubical and slipping out into the corridor.

When R walked into registration he nodded at Enjolras as he sat down. They didn’t say anything to each other. Enjolras felt his heart sink. What had he been thinking? Kissing R had to be the worst idea he’d ever had. He’d come to him for help and he had totally taken advantage of him in the worst possible way by forcing himself and his affections on him when he was in such a vulnerable position. Of course he would be angry with him, feel betrayed by Enjolras being unable to control himself. He’d really mucked this up.

He stewed all the way through registration, mentally berating himself for his poor timing. In doing so he failed to observe the way R kept shooting him furtive looks from under his curls.

+

During his Geography lesson he came to the conclusion that the best thing to do would be apologise, hope for forgiveness and reiterate that he still wanted to help should R need him at any time.

At break time, he headed over to R’s locker armed with a can of coke and more paracetamol. R seemed unsurprised to seem him there.

“Here, you’re due another dose” he said, proffering the painkillers. “Also, I figured you could use the sugar.” He was surprised when R grinned his thanks at him. He opened the can and drank most of it down in one gulp.

Enjolras took a deep breath, his whole speech worked out in his head.

“I’m sorry for what happened this morning,” he said, using his most serious tone. “It was inappropriate of me to kiss you without your consent and I understand if you don’t want to be friends any more but I would like…”

“Hang on, whoa!” R interrupted, bringing his hands up, eyes widening in shock. “Just let me stop you there, Apollo”

He leaned his hand on Enjolras’s shoulder and, checking up and down the corridor, pulled him round behind his locker door in an effort to gain a bit of privacy.

“I don’t know where this is coming from, but don’t you fucking dare apologise. Not for that.” Brown eyes bore intently into blue. Enjolras felt his heart flutter.

“In case you didn’t notice, me kissing you back was my consent.” He whispered into Enjolras’s ear. Enjolras closed his eyes, feeling R’s breath soft against his ear. Suddenly it was gone, and Enjolras opened his eyes in time to see Aire pulling some books from his locker. He moved to allow him to shut the door.

“Shall we talk about this at lunch time?” he shot him a smile but his forehead was creased.

Enjolras sighed, feeling his chest unclenching. 

"I’d like that.”

This time, the smile made it all the way to his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what you're thinking; FINALLY!  
> These two just break my heart but I'm happy to see them finally start to sort themselves out.
> 
> "The Plague" is a great text.  
> Also, Nietzsche may have some worrisome idealogies but he is responsible for one of my all time favourite quotes; "without music, life would be a mistake"


	8. Like Dreamers At Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short fluffy interlude.

The pair of them waltzed into their Maths class, jostling each other in the doorway and knocking elbows as they took their seats. The teacher raised his eyes at them suspiciously as they tried (and failed) to look back at him completely innocently.

He called for the attention of the class, looking particularly in the direction of Enjolras and Grantaire who were still a little too bright eyed for his liking given that it was the Monday after a holiday. The class fell silent as he set them a number of exercises having reminded them all severely that mock exams were now only ten weeks away.

R settled into his lesson, trying not to overthink the events of the past few hours. When he had woken up this morning he had felt barely human. He had gone to sleep on his front but at some point in the night he had rolled over. The ache in his back was almost unbearable. He had dressed mechanically, wisely choosing to wear a t-shirt and putting his school shirt in his bag. He wasn’t entirely sure how he had managed to drag himself to school and was grateful to see Enjolras emerge from the fog.

The paracetamol he had taken helped immensely with the pain but the warm glow now residing in his chest had begun with Enjolras’s careful ministrations. It had positively exploded with that unexpected but definitely not unwelcome kiss.

The happiness had been quickly replaced with confusion and doubt at Enjolras’s obvious discomfort. Perhaps Enjolras regretted it and only wanted to be friends. Perhaps his response, returning the kiss, had been too strong. He had racked his brains all the way through his Art class trying desperately to think what could possibly have been responsible for that troubled frown.

As he puzzled his way through some particularly nasty vectors, he tried not to think about the fact that there seemed to be a communication crisis going on here somewhere. From their quick exchange at break time it seemed that Enjolras believed his actions to be unwelcome. He definitely wasn’t worried about the fact that they were going to have another conversation at lunch time. He groaned inwardly. Enjolras was all about the conversations. At least he was smiling again, which was a relief.

When lunchtime finally came around, the rain could not deter them from walking all the way down to the bottom of the field, away from prying ears. There was a quiet little spinney by the tennis courts and they decided to head towards that. As soon as they were far enough away from the building, Enjolras reached down and took R’s hand in his.

“I’m sorry if I freaked you out this morning,” he said quietly, looking at their joined hands.

“You only freaked me out when you freaked out,” Aire countered, “and if you apologise again I swear I’ll walk back and finish lunch in the library.” He was pleased to see Enjolras smile as his threat. But then he sighed again. 

“I just know you have a lot going on right now and you don’t need me making it worse with _feelings_.” Enjolras looked particularly severe when he spoke the last word. R wanted to laugh.

“Is that what this is about? I’m a big boy, Enjolras, I can cope with more than one emotion at a time.”

Enjolras sighed again.

“I like you,” he told his shoes. “I guess you like me too?”

“You have to ask?” At this, Enjolras risked a look at the boy standing with him. His damp curls clung to his face and his expression was almost reverent. But then a cloud passed over his eyes.

“This isn’t some sort of… you don’t just feel sorry for me, do you?” his voice was cautious and Enjolras had to hold tightly to his hand to stop him from pulling away.

“You seem to be determined to have me embarrass myself as fully as possible, so I may as well confess that this has been growing for a while,” he said with a quiet determination. R’s eyes were soft with a faint glow of hope.

“Really?” Enjolras considered for a few moments, looking to quantify this feeling with something tangible.

“Probably since that day you quoted extensively from my Religious Studies essay on pro-choice to argue why I should fight for student rights to a smoke break.” R barked a laugh at the memory.

“Your face was an absolute picture. I thought you were going to have a stroke. I still say you had a death wish handing that in to Mrs McManamon in the first place.” They both laughed, a comfortable silence settling on them as it came to an end.

“I think we should stop trying to have conversations and just agree already that we like each other and act accordingly.” It took tremendous effort for R to make this leap of faith and he really hoped it was the right decision. He was rewarded when Enjolras sent a dazzling smile in his direction and moved purposefully into his personal space.

This kiss was perfect. In the privacy of the spinney, with only the splosh of autumnal rain to accompany the thudding hearts and the rushing blood; this moment was beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, apparently I find it really difficult to write these two being happy.  
> I hope this sounds ok, but I had to post it because I'm sick of staring at it.


	9. Filling The Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What do you mean, you’ve ‘never seen Star Wars’?!” Enjolras actually stopped in his tracks, causing something of a pile up in the middle of the crowded corridor. A couple of people turned to look at them, sniggering. 
> 
> Six days of heaven where Enjolras introduces R to some of his favourite things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter begins about a week and a half after the end of the last chapter.
> 
> There are spoilers so if you haven't seen Star Wars then there are a fair few plot references here.

On Wednesday evening Enjolras looked up in surprise as not only his mother, but his father as well, entered his bedroom. He was working on his Lord of the Flies essay and so was rather lost in the world of angry mobs of school boys chasing each other with sharpened sticks.

There was an awkward pause as his father shuffled in the background, plunging his hands into his suit pockets and then taking them out again.

“What’s up?” Enjolras broke the silence, wondering what the hell he had done to deserve both his parents crowding in upon his personal sanctuary.

“We were just wondering if everything was all right.” His mother said in her soft, light voice. Enjolras frowned.

“I’m fine.” He responded, wondering where this was going. His father cleared his throat.

“Your mother has got it into her head that you’re unhappy.” He offered as some form of clarification.

“We’re just worried about you, darling,” she continued. “You’re always holed up in here studying when you should be out with people your age… having fun. Playing football” Enjolras snorted.

“When have you ever known me to play football!” he scoffed.

“The boy’s fine, Marjorie,” said his father, turning to go but stopping at his wife’s glare. Enjolras tried not to smile, recognising that look all too well as one he had inherited and employed quite regularly.

“Have you made any friends at school?” His mother was still using the softly-softly voice as though addressing someone on their death bed. Enjolras rolled his eyes.

“You never invite anyone over to dinner. It’s your birthday in a few weeks’ time and you don’t seem to have made any plans with anyone…”

“Ok, look. I appreciate your concern” Enjolras interrupted because, really, enough was enough. “I have made friends. I did invite one of them over but unfortunately he couldn’t stay to tea,” he felt his ears go red as he skirted round the truth of that incident, not to mention his full relationship with the ‘friend’ in question. His mother didn’t look too sure but he could tell his father was thoroughly convinced and just as anxious as Enjolras for this whole conversation to end as speedily as possible.

“Let’s leave him to his books, dear. He’s fine, aren’t you son?” Enjolras nodded enthusiastically. “And if, for whatever reason, you’re not, you know you can always come to us.”

“Yup, definitely.” He watched them both retreat out of his bedroom and was relieved when the door finally closed behind them. His parents hadn’t really been around all that much in the past two months. His father was almost always out at work and his mother was either shopping or volunteering or organising a coffee morning somewhere. However his mother could be surprisingly perceptive sometimes.

He felt a stab of guilt for causing them to worry; the past few weeks had been something of a rollercoaster and on reflection his recent behaviour – clutching his mobile phone, leaving the house ridiculously early, taking his meals in his room – was all somewhat out of the ordinary for him. He determined that tomorrow he would stick around for breakfast at least, rather than rush off to school which had been his routine for the past week or so.

Things between him and R were going quite well, considering getting time together was proving difficult. R had to go home straight after school, although Enjolras had started to walk part of the way home with him. They spent their lunchtimes together but both felt that it would be unwise to do more than sit close, occasionally holding hands; you never knew who might stumble upon you.

They had continued to meet early at school nearly every day, initially so that Enjolras could check that Aire’s back was healing properly, but as time went on they kept up the routine as it gave them some extra quiet time together.

For a moment, Enjolras considered whether he should text his boyfriend to advise him that he wouldn’t be as early tomorrow but he knew that he probably wouldn’t get it as the phone remained hidden under the floorboards. He rubbed his hands over his face in frustration. How did humans communicate before the advent of technology?

+

R raised his eyebrows when Enjolras finally jogged into the form room a mere five minutes before the start of registration.

“Did the sun god sleep in?” he drawled, his brow slightly furrowed. Enjolras bumped his shoulder reassuringly.

“Don’t be cross, I know we arranged to meet early but my parents staged an intervention last night.” R’s eyebrows shot up.

“In order to reassure them that I am totally sane and not at all lonely or depressed it seemed prudent take breakfast with them.”

“Of course.” R agreed as though he understood completely what Enjolras meant. The frown had been replaced by a look of supressed amusement.

“You’re not too upset, are you?” R sighed and shook his head.

“I’m not upset. Actually I have some really good news…” But Enjolras would have to wait to find out about this good news as the form tutor chose that moment to call order in the room.

+

“So?” Enjolras attempted to lean casually against the locker, watching R’s dark curls disappear and reappear as he swapped his text books for the next class. Aire peered round the door, flashing a wicked grin.

“You look like the cat who has finally caught the canary.” He observed, feeling his own smile blossom. R slammed his locker door shut with enthusiasm.

“My father got a new job.”

“Ok,” Enjolras didn’t quite see how this merited such unbridled joy, so waited for further details.

“He has rotating shift hours. Six days 9am to 6pm, three days off, six days 12am to 9am, three days off, six days 6am to 3pm, three days off.” He rattled off quickly, Enjolras barely able to register the numbers being called out. “Rinse lather repeat” he finished happily.

“So, what does that mean in the grander scheme of things?”

“It means that from Monday, I’ll have six whole days where I won’t have to be home immediately after school.” He leant against the lockers, staring intently at Enjolras whose eyes were now wide with delight. “We could spend some proper time together, if you liked.” R was glowing with the possibilities.

“What do you think?”

“That’s brilliant,” Enjolras finally released his breath. He began to imagine what they might do with that precious time. He looked up at R who matched his expression with a sparkling grin.

+

_Monday_

Entering Enjolras’s house for the second time, R took a moment to appreciate its own unique, warm scent. Enjolras called out a cautious greeting, but once it was clear there was nobody home, he rounded on his boyfriend, circling his arms round his waist and pulling him close.

R still wasn’t used to this. He looked in wonder at those intense blue eyes that gazed back at him. Of all Enjolras’s many expressions, this was one of his favourites. For someone so apparently self-contained, he was surprisingly tactile, happy to run his palm across R’s cheek or trace gently at his hips, dipping a teasing finger at the waistband of his trousers.

“Remember what we agreed,” he murmured against Enjolras’s lips, pulling back with regret. “Homework first.” Enjolras let out an impatient huff and unhappily moved to the kitchen for snacks.

They had been making big plans for this week. The primary goal had been to ensure that Aire’s father would have no reason to suspect his son hadn’t spent his evening at home doing his homework as usual. Grantaire had made solemn promises to his mother about this. While he fully intended to make the most of his father’s absence from the house, he wasn’t about to abuse that by letting his usual performance slip. Work had to come first. In return she had agreed that she would turn a blind eye to his delayed return to the house, provided he was home at least thirty minutes before his father’s work shift was due to end.

While R got stuck into his Maths homework, Enjolras began flicking through his CDs, pulling out albums and creating a small pile for Aire’s alternative education. The short conversation they’d had last week where R had confessed that he didn’t listen to any music except that which was playing when he went shopping with his parents made it one of Enjolras’s top priorities.

R looked through some of the band names; Bad Religion, The Clash, Dead Kennedys, NOFX, Rage Against the Machine, System of a Down... He started to flick through a few lyric sheets and found himself smiling.

“I’m sensing a bit of a theme here, Apollo.” He chuckled at some of the aggressively political lyrics. Enjolras didn’t even look up, but instead scrolled back through his albums.

“Here,” he chucked over a CD. “This is more your cup of negative tea. May I particularly recommend track nine.” R raised an eyebrow at the album’s title, but obligingly read through some of the songs. Enjolras allowed a few moments of silence, waiting for his response. Eventually he spluttered a laugh.

“'I know I believe in nothing but it is my nothing’ – it’s like you know me!” he cried with good humour. This time Enjolras did smile.

“I thought you were working.” He teased. R grudgingly returned to his books.

+

_Tuesday_

“What do you mean, you’ve ‘never seen _Star Wars_ ’?!” Enjolras actually stopped in his tracks, causing something of a pile up in the middle of the crowded corridor. A couple of people turned to look at them, sniggering.

“Yes, please do continue to rub in my woefully inadequate knowledge of modern popular culture.” R actually pouted. Enjolras couldn’t help but smile at how cute that was.

“Well at least now we have a plan for tonight.”

+

“Now, this is the original 1977 cinematic release,” Enjolras instructed with a very solemn look upon his face. “There have been various… ‘adjustments’ shall we say, in subsequent releases but I’ll inflict those on you another time.”

R tried to keep his face straight. He understood that this was important to his boyfriend and so openly mocking how grave he was behaving was not a good idea. Enjolras could be rather touchy if he thought Aire wasn’t taking things as seriously as he felt he should.

Surprisingly, he found himself rather enjoying the film, though he was fairly certain Enjolras would not approve if he realised R’s favourite character wasn’t Han Solo but Darth Vader. From the moment the dark figure had stormed purposefully into view with that cloak swooshing behind him, R knew his heart lay with the Empire.

+

_Wednesday_

They agreed to save _Empire Strikes Back_ for Thursday, although R had been slightly disappointed. His regret did not last for long. Enjolras put a DVD in the player before chucking the box at his boyfriend.

“‘ _Amnesty International’s Secret Policeman’s Ball_ ’ – is this a protest film?” Enjolras rolled his eyes.

“Will you please trust me, you will love this. There are several important people I’m keen to introduce you to. They are Messrs. Chapman, Cleese, Idle, Palin, Gilliam and Jones.”

Ten minutes later R was certain he might have actually cracked a rib falling off the bed with laughter.

Enjolras delighted to see him like this. Sharing all these things that he loved filled him with warmth and light. Aire’s smile when he was relaxed and unguarded was a joy to behold.

They lay side by side in the dark, with only the flickering light from the TV casting a glow round the room. Unconsciously they had linked hands, arms and legs tangling together on top of Enjolras’s duvet.

By the time they reached the final sketch, with Rowan Atkinson, Peter Cook et al all huddled with their heads stuffed inside their sweaters, both of them could barely breathe for laughing.

Suddenly, Enjolras’s bedroom door opened and the light was switched on. R dropped Enjolras’s hand like he’d been burnt and the blonde tried to repress the sensation of hurt as he blinked at the brightness flooding the room.

It was Enjolras’s mother who stuck her head round the door, confusion on her face.

“Hi, Mum,” he managed to force his face into some sort of neutral smile. He darted a look at R whose laughter had died on his lips.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise you had a friend over.” She smiled broadly, a little too broadly. Enjolras groaned inwardly.

“Mum, this is my friend Grantaire,” he ignored the wince from the boy beside him.

“Aire, this is my Mum.”

“It’s so nice to meet you!” she gushed. Enjolras felt his cheeks redden.

“Will you be staying for dinner?”

“Grantaire has to go home for dinner,” he answered quickly, before R could open his mouth. She frowned at his tone.

“There’s no need to be like that, young man.” She snapped, before turning back to the other boy, switching that smile back on as if it had never left her face.

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I do have to be getting home.” He said quietly. Her smile only widened so that her eyes nearly closed.

“That’s fine, sweetheart, maybe another time.” And she slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her. Enjolras slowly exhaled.

“Well, I can see where you got that famous glare from.” R said lightly. He bit his top lip and then swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Enjolras felt his heart pound in his chest. He reached forward and caught R’s elbow. He stopped moving but didn’t turn around.

“Look, I’m sorry I introduced you as my friend,” he said quickly, folding himself over R’s back. “I’m just… they don’t…” he struggled to find the right words. “I’m not out.” He muttered into R’s shoulders. He felt his boyfriend sigh underneath him.

“It’s not that, Apollo. _That_ I understand, believe me. The very idea of my father finding out about me is more than I can actually bear to think about.” Enjolras closed his eyes, placing a kiss at the bottom of Aire’s neck.

“Your name,” he said finally. “I said your name.” R nodded.

“You hate it that much?”

“I only ever hear it when I’m in trouble.” He whispered. For a moment neither said anything. Finally, R sighed and they broke apart so that he could put his shoes on.

“It doesn’t matter, really. I know you can’t introduce me to your parents with a nickname. I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

+

_Thursday_

Enjolras was ready to fall through the floor. At what point did he think it was appropriate to show his boyfriend a film where one of the major plot points was the difficult father-son relationship between the protagonist and the villain? He could slap himself for his insensitivity.

It was too late to do anything about it now. They were well past the bit with the asteroid field and Luke Skywalker’s training with Yoda was already in full swing. As the Millennium Falcon flew towards Cloud City he started to fidget. By the time Han Solo had been frozen in carbonite he had managed to make his bottom lip bleed from his nervous chewing. R, lying on the bed beside him, was completely enthralled and totally failed to notice Enjolras’s discomfort.

He held his breath as Darth Vader viciously cut off Skywalker’s hand, keeping his eyes on R’s reaction, looking for any signs of distress. Aire, for his part, was leaning forward intently, caught up in the drama unfolding before him. He didn’t so much as flinch, and only sat back with a satisfied sigh as the camera pulled back from Luke and Leia who were now safe on the Medical Frigate.

Enjolras flicked the light on, revealing R’s intense face.

“You’re telling me, I have to wait a full twenty-four hours to find out if Han is ok?!” he asked, feigning outrage. Enjolras couldn’t help dissolving into slightly hysterical laughter.

+

_Friday_

There was no attempt to do any work on Friday evening. Enjolras had thought it a good idea to do a bit at lunchtime that R could present as evidence of homework having been done should it be required. R practically bounced onto Enjolras’s bed, eager to get started on _Return of the Jedi_. Enjolras chuckled at his enthusiasm. He microwaved a bowl of popcorn and prepared to press play.

They were curled up together, R resting his head on Enjolras’s chest while the blonde ran his hair gently through his brown curls. R’s hand rested on Enjolras’s abdomen, the slight weight warm and welcome against his skin. He felt his eyes close.

“You’re never asleep!” R muttered in quiet mock outrage. Enjolras’s eyes shot open.

“Nope, not at all,” he replied groggily, focussing on the screen, trying to work out what he’d missed. Admiral Akbar was just explaining the grand plan to blow up the new Death Star.

“It’s ok, you can sleep, I don’t mind” he murmured, his fingers now drawing circles in the fabric of Enjolras’s shirt.

“I’m just checking my eyelids for holes,” he grumbled, letting his eyes close again. He felt Aire smile against his shirt. When he next opened his eyes it was to rolling credits and R leaning up to turn on the bedside lamp.

“So basically, never underestimate anything small, furry and cute. Is that the moral?” R grinned and stretched, rolling his shoulders. It wasn’t yet five o’clock but it felt a lot later.

Enjolras shifted, leaning forward to take his boyfriend’s shoulders and pushing him back down on the bed. He rolled on top of him, straddling his hips. Aire grinned up at him, resting his hands on Enjolras’s hips.

“Comfortable up there?”

“Very, thank you.” He smiled back down, admiring how R’s hair sprawled across the pillow. Tilting forwards, he kissed his forehead, then both cheeks and then finally found those lips. R groaned, stretching forward to deepen the kiss. He brought his hands up Enjolras’s back, pushing up underneath his shirt, letting his hands skim over the warm skin hidden there. They remained that way for a few moments, letting their hands and lips explore each other.

When they broke apart, Enjolras was pleased at the flush on his boyfriend’s cheeks, happy to see him out of breath, feeling his chest rise and fall beneath him.

“Have you ever…?” he faltered, suddenly shy.

“No.” R looked so open in this moment, so careless and relaxed underneath him.

“Me neither.” There was a pause as they both regarded each other.

“Maybe one day… we could?”

“We could. One day”

+

_Saturday_

Enjolras’s mother nearly dropped the teapot when her son entered the kitchen at 8:30am on Saturday morning.

“You’re up early,” she commented. Enjolras hummed his agreement, reaching in the cupboard for some cereal.

“Plans for the day?”

“Going out with R.” he said nonchalantly, as if this was no big deal, as if this was something they would be able to do every Saturday should they so choose.

It was to be their last day of pretending to be normal and they were going to make the most of it. They had both agreed to get up early and go out for the day. When they had discussed the various possibilities, Enjolras knew exactly what he wanted to do; he wanted to take R to London.

It was now less than six weeks to Christmas. The city was already bedecked in lights and Enjolras knew R had probably never been taken to see them before.

They met at the train station at 9:30am as agreed, wrapped up against the cold in hats, scarves and gloves. Enjolras had already told R in no uncertain terms that this was to be his treat, no arguments and the other boy had reluctantly agreed. However, now that they were sitting on a train speeding towards the city, his eyes were alight with excitement.

The first thing they did was get on the tube to Bond Street station. R had never seen so many people all squidged into one place. He had seen London on TV but nothing could have prepared him for the sensations that surrounded him, the noises and smells as people jostled along the pavements. All the windows glittered with fairy lights and tinsel.

They made their way down Oxford Street, walking among the Saturday shoppers hand in hand. They paused to admire the Christmas windows at Selfridges.

“Did you want to go into Hamleys?” Enjolras asked as they made their way towards Regent Street. At sight of R’s baffled shrug he proceeded to drag him up the road. Five minutes later they were standing outside the famous toy shop. It was a riot of colour and light.

“Shall we go in?”

“Oh, after you!” R mock-bowed, waving Enjolras past. The pair of them chortled as they made their way inside.

They spent an hour wondering around the floors of toys. Enjolras had to physically drag his boyfriend away from the Harry Potter section. R then had to sit down to recover after a member of staff asked Enjolras whether he would like to stuff a teddy bear. He was still roaring with laughter as Enjolras steered him out of the store. They walked down to Piccadilly Circus and descended the steps to the Mall. In one direction they could see Buckingham Palace (Aire couldn’t suppress his laughter as Enjolras frowned at all the tourists flocking round the gates) but Enjolras led them firmly in the other direction past St James’s Park and Horse Guards to Trafalgar Square. He smirked as Aire stood gaping at the sight that met them.

“That,” he said, his eyes rising upwards, “is the biggest tree I have ever seen.” Enjolras squeezed his hand. The pair of them stared up at the Norwegian Spruce towering over the tourists.

“Ready for some lunch?” he whispered softly. Aire nodded, not taking his eyes off the sixty foot tree. Enjolras directed him towards a little café near Charing Cross station. They ate in silence, each shooting the other looks and smiles. Both tried to forget that they only had a few hours of freedom left.

They got a bus back to the station so that they could sit upstairs, still holding hands. They looked out the window and watched the world go by. On the train home, R rested his head against Enjolras’s shoulder. The blonde pressed a kiss to his brown curls.

“I’ve had the best week, this week.” The boy whispered into his shoulder.

“Me too.”

“Just another twenty-seven days to go, Apollo. Then we can do it all again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has commented on this so far and well done for perservering.  
> This has probably been my favourite chapter to write, although I appreciate thinking about Christmas in September is perhaps a little premature.
> 
> London (along with most cities) is beautiful in winter.
> 
> The album Enjolras throws at R is "The Holy Bible" by Manic Street Preachers, the track being "Faster".  
> Secret Policeman's Ball is one of the funniest things you will ever watch. Peter Cook is a genius, the "End of the World" Sketch had to be paused twice when I first watched it because I was laughing so hard.


	10. In the Guise of Candles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is squabbling, poor communication and a birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note to say that I've never written anything like this before so I hope it comes across ok.
> 
> Also, brief cw for abuse.

Enjolras was wedged between a rock and a hard place.

With only a week to go, his parents were putting pressure on him to come up with ideas for his birthday. After having one of the best weeks of his life, normal service had now resumed. Whatever happened, he knew it was unlikely R would be able to share his day with him. He had never awaited a birthday with so little anticipation.

As he lay on his bed, glaring at the ceiling, he reflected on the sad truth that the sweetness of the past six days made the grim reality of today even more sour and unpalatable. He spent the day finalising a few essays, but he was irritable and distracted. His room felt too empty and his head too full.

At dinner, he sat at the table with his parents in a morose silence, resenting their presence. Their empty chatter washed over him and he wished desperately for an end so he could escape.

“So, darling,” his mother turned the full force of her penetrating gaze upon her son. “Have you thought any more about what you would like to do this weekend? I know your birthday is on Sunday but we thought Saturday might be a better day to do something.” He shook his head, frowning at the sweet potato.

“What about that nice young man you invited over during the week?” she persisted, passing the gravy to her husband who appeared to be paying very little attention to the proceedings.

“He won’t be able to come,” and really, it was just cruel to make him say it out loud, to hear the hollowness of his own voice, usually so confident and self-assured.

“Oh, well,” she continued brightly, “I’m sure there are other friends you could invite.” Enjolras rubbed his forehead, trying to stave off the headache that was threatening to consume him.

“I’m not twelve, I don’t have to invite people.”

Perhaps his words came out harsher than he intended as his father barked his name out in a warning to amend his attitude. His mother continued to spoon out the broccoli, ignoring him for a few moments.

He tucked into his dinner with little relish. What did they expect him to do? He couldn’t magically make friends materialise out of thin air. Later that evening his mother came and sat on the end of his bed, offering various meaningless platitudes about how she understood that he was under a lot of pressure at the moment, that it is never easy being new anywhere and she thought he was doing really well given the circumstances.

The conversation came to a thoroughly unsatisfactory end when she patted his foot, agreeing that they didn’t have to do anything if he didn’t want to, she just thought it might be nice.

+

R was in good spirits on Monday morning, still riding high from the events of the past week. However, his brow furrowed at sight of Enjolras’s gloomy air.

“What’s up?”

“Oh nothing, just my parents.” He felt slightly guilty that, of all the people to be complaining to about parents, here was R trying to cheer him up. R chuckled at the irony in the air.

For a moment Enjolras debated telling him about what he had been coerced into agreeing to last night; that he had decided to indulge his mother and arrange to go out on Saturday for a birthday treat.

He looked at the warm smile on R’s relaxed face, how the shadows under his eyes had receded and his skin was a better colour. He couldn’t bring himself to take that smile away by mentioning his birthday, or the dinner or anything like that. He forced himself to take a shuddering breath and arranged his face into a smile.

In Geography he summoned up the courage to ask Ben, the guy he sat next to, whether he would care to join him for bowling and a meal the following weekend. The bowling had been his mother’s idea. Enjolras had never so much as touched a bowling ball in his life. Ben seemed surprised but flattered and happily accepted the invitation.

In English in the afternoon he made another rash decision and asked James, another desk mate, if he would also like to join the gathering. James was as loud as Ben was quiet. He also accepted and Enjolras was able to go home that evening knowing his parents might finally be satisfied enough to leave him alone.

+

At two o’clock in the morning, Enjolras was pulled from sleep by his phone vibrating on his bedside table. Groggily, he reached out from under his duvet and forced his eyes open to read the text. It was from R.

_R: P &C tomorrow please x _

Enjolras sighed, feeling the stab of pain through his heart. P&C: code for Paracetamol and Coke. It had become part of the black humour they had evolved in trying to cope with the increasing horrors of R’s home life. He chucked the phone back on his bedside table and pulled the duvet tight over his head.

+

It took Enjolras a while to locate Aire as he wasn't waiting in the usual spot where they normally met. When he eventually found his boyfriend, it reminded Enjolras of the first time he had ever seen him. He was folded in on himself in a chair, with his arms wrapped tightly round his sides and his gaze focussed on something far away in the distance. He wondered how bad it had been the night before, what sort of damage that evil man had inflicted on him now. Trying to keep his heartbeat in some kind of order and his temper in check, he flopped down in the chair adjacent to him. Aire didn’t move.

“I brought the stuff.” He said, holding up his bag. R still didn’t move, his face carefully composed and closed off to the world. To the casual observer he was merely daydreaming. Enjolras sighed and reached out to him, surprised when R suddenly jerked back.

“R?”

“You know, it’s funny," the other boy said, breaking his silence, "this guy came up to me this morning and asked me if I was going to your… now how did he phrase it… oh, that’s right, ‘birthday bash extravaganza’ on Saturday. Now what do you think he was talking about?” R’s tone was completely bitter.

Enjolras felt his heart sink. He was going to murder James.

“It’s nothing,” he finally managed to splutter out, but Aire only laughed, a disbelieving snort of anguish that he hoped never to hear again.

“What, your birthday is nothing?”

“I just… I knew you wouldn’t be able to come. I didn’t want to make things awkward by asking you when I already knew what the answer would be. So I just decided to…”

“Oh fuck off, Enjolras! I get enough of that shit at home, without you starting to make decisions for me as well.” Enjolras felt like he had been slapped in the face. He wished he had been; he was sure that would hurt less.

“In case you were wondering, I got a B on my last Maths test which probably has a lot to do with the lack of work I’ve done in the past week,” Enjolras winced. “But that’s fine, I’ll happily take a B and all the shit that comes with it if it means spending time with someone who understands _how little control I have over my own fucking life_.” He was getting louder now. Enjolras shrank back in his chair as the wrath washed over him.

“I know I asked for some paracetamol, but you know what?” and here he stood up, finally facing Enjolras with all the sadness and rage of betrayal etched clearly across his face, “I think I’ll just sit this one through. Might give me something to focus on other than what a terrible human being you can be.”

He walked off, then, leaving Enjolras reeling in his wake.

+

R didn’t speak to him for the rest of the week.

It was very lonely, being in such close proximity to him and yet so metaphorically distant. He had completely closed down. His face was expressionless. The lights had gone out of his eyes. He didn’t speak out in class any more to offer a contrary opinion. On Thursday the History tutor called on him directly for an answer; he had paused for a moment before answering that he could not possibly elaborate any further on the points already made. The teacher looked at him like he had just sprung another head.

If Enjolras tried to approach him he merely walked in the other direction. He seemed to be the master of disappearing into crowds of people and vanishing down corridors.

Enjolras began to feel quite frustrated with the whole thing. For heaven’s sake, it wasn’t his fault! He’d been forced into this whole stupid birthday idea. He swore that next year he would drug both his parents until 1st December had safely passed everybody by.

He felt guilty and stung by R’s words. On reflection he had done exactly what he’d been accused of and had made a decision on Aire’s behalf without actually asking him. It may well have been a no, but R would have liked to have delivered that no himself.

On Friday afternoon, he was working towards a final attempt at an apology, trying to sneakily approach while R had his head in his locker, when James came bouncing up behind him and slung an arm round his neck.

“Hey, Enjolras!” the boy called at what felt like a ridiculous volume for the corridor. “All set for tomorrow?”

Enjolras saw the figure behind the locker door freeze, before the door was slammed shut and the figure walked slowly and purposefully away. He sighed, another reason for James’s long, drawn out and merciless execution added to the list.

He forced a grin on his face, to answer the affirmative, and with promises to see each other tomorrow he beat a hasty retreat.

+

They all met at the bowling alley the following afternoon. Enjolras’s mother had booked a lane for them and retreated quietly to the adjacent café to read her book while the boys played a few games.

It hadn’t been a promising start when Ben had asked “Isn’t Grantaire coming? You guys seem pretty tight.” Enjolras was sure it wasn’t Ben’s intention to rip out his heart and impale it against the wall with a rusty spoon, but that was sure as hell how it felt.

After counting to ten twice he’d managed a fairly civil response that, unfortunately, Grantaire was unable to attend. At that, James had snorted and said “Don’t worry, Enjolras, that boy’s an oddball. Never goes anywhere!” As if that was supposed to make Enjolras feel better.

In the end, Enjolras had managed to passably enjoy himself. He was surprised to find that he was relatively good at bowling. He found it quite satisfying to hurl an 8lb ball down an alley and watch the pins fly out of its path. He found it equally satisfying to watch James’s ball end up in the gutter, missing the pins altogether.

Ben proved to be a good choice of guest. He was bright, polite to Enjolras’s mother without being creepy and seemed genuinely happy to be there without feeling the need to be loud and attention seeking. James on the other hand was hard work. On the two occasions that he did manage a strike, he insisted on celebrating at full volume as if he had just personally won the World Cup.

The meal that followed was also rather pleasant, despite his mother breaking her promise and arranging for the waitress to come out with a cake. He wanted to sink through the floor as everyone, including the adjacent tables, joined in with a rousing chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’, but made sure that his mother saved the cake that was left over.

“For friends who couldn’t make it” he said. She smiled at him a little too knowingly.

+

That evening he sent a text.

He knew that R never turned his phone on unless he had to, and he fervently wished that the next time he ‘had to’ would be a very long time in the future, but he needed to vocalise how he felt somehow. If R was never going to speak to him again he may as well send a text he would likely never read.

_E: I missed you today. I saved some birthday cake. I’ll bring it in Monday and you can choose a piece if you like – E x_

After five minutes of staring at his blank screen he decided to send another.

_E: By the way, my birthday is actually on Sunday – E x_

He put his phone down on the duvet beside him, plugged in his headphones and turned the music up full to drown out the loneliness aching through him.

+

Enjolras’s eyes snapped open as the duvet buzzed, his phone lost in his bed somewhere. It took him a few moments to locate it, feeling quite disorientated. He took a moment to appreciate that he had fallen asleep on top of the duvet still fully clothed with all the lights on. He checked the time and was shocked to find that it was nearly one o’clock in the morning. He opened the text that had just arrived.

_R: u awake?_

He swiftly tapped out an affirmative response, now fully awake. He felt absolutely thrilled and delighted that finally R was talking to him again. He then felt horrible because if R had turned on his phone then surely that meant…

_R: let me in?_

Enjolras read that last text through twice more, before tip-toeing out of his bedroom towards the landing window which looked down into the street below. Huddled under the lamp post, was an unmistakable silhouette. It took him a moment to be absolutely sure he wasn’t hallucinating, before he made his way down the stairs as quickly and quietly as he could, his heart thumping in his chest.

He slowly opened the front door and stepped out into the porch, half closing the door behind him to keep noise to a minimum. On spotting him in the porch, R quickly crossed the street and jogged up the driveway.

“Hello,” he said nervously, eyes on Enjolras’s feet.

“You ok?” Enjolras’s voice cracked. If something had happened to R while he’d been off gallivanting at the bowling alley he would never forgive himself.

“Yeah, fine. I just… I wanted to wish you happy birthday” the boy said softly, risking a look through his curls to see how this would be received.

That was it, Enjolras’s heart snapped in two and he pulled the boy in for a bone-crushing hug. Initially R had frozen in his arms, shocked at the sudden movement, before relaxing, dropping his head onto Enjolras’s shoulder. Enjolras mimicked the movement, blonde and brown curls mixing together.

“I’m so sorry,” R muttered into his neck. Enjolras gave him a squeeze before pulling back. With one hand still holding Aire’s arm, he motioned at him to be quiet and pushed open the front door. The pair of them stalked slowly up the stairs, listening out for any sounds coming from upstairs to indicate Enjolras’s parents were awake. They managed to make it safely to the bedroom where not only did he close the door, but he wedged the desk chair under the door handle.

He turned to find R with an amused grin on his face. The grin quickly faded when he saw Enjolras looking at him.

“Sorry it’s so late. Had to wait for Him to go to work.” He shuffled, hands back in his pockets.

Enjolras took a deep breath and moved into Aire’s personal space. Keeping his eyes on the other boy, looking for any sign of discomfort, he hesitantly wrapped his arms around him. He was surprised but pleased when R let out a happy sigh of relief.

“I have missed you so, so much. You have no idea” he mumbled into R’s shoulder, before quickly pressing a kiss there.

“I missed you too” came the response, so quiet Enjolras almost didn’t hear it.

Five minutes later found them both curled up on the bed, legs tangled together while lips and teeth and tongues and hands moved with an innocent sort of insistence, both hungry for the other yet unwilling to be the first to make the next step.

R was lost, drunk on the sensation of Enjolras next to him; Enjolras’s lips on his skin, his skin beneath his fingers, his fingers on his own skin. Enjolras wound his hands underneath R’s t-shirt and began to hitch it up, desperate to claim the warmth beneath. They broke apart just long enough to drag the t-shirt over his head. Once free, R returned the favour so they both sat shirtless opposite each other, taking in the sight before them.

“You’re so beautiful” R’s voice was soft and reverent. He cautiously held out two fingers and, with a nod of permission from his greek god, his traced them down the marble-like chest, before leaning forward and pressing a chaste kiss above his navel. A hot spark shot through Enjolras at this intimate touch.

When R sat back up, Enjolras cupped his face and pressed a kiss, first to those soft lips, then to a faint white scar on his jaw line, then down his neck to his collar bone, hearing Aire’s breath hitch with every touch. He came back up to meet those lips again, balancing forward on his knees as he deepened the kiss. He was at once aware of dextrous fingers at the button of his jeans.

“Is this ok?” R murmured against his mouth. He hummed an assent, using one hand to balance on Aire’s shoulder whilst trying to undo the other boy’s trousers at the same time. In the end, he had to sit back on his heels, making both of them smile at their mutual inexperience and awkwardness at trying to undress each other.

Once both were reduced down to boxers, R gently rested his hands on Enjolras’s shoulders and pushed him down against the bed. Enjolras went willingly, his brain fogged with pleasure and desire. R took a moment to drink in the image of this golden youth lying back against the pillows, eyes fixed on him with such a look of trust and warmth on his face. He thought he might explode there on the spot – and if he had done, he would have died happy.

“Look at you.” He whispered, more to himself than anything. He ran his hands down Enjolras’s arms, tracing the muscles just below the surface of the soft, supple skin. Enjolras let his eyes close, soft lashes resting delicately on his cheeks.

“I want to do something for you,” Aire said softly. “If you want me to stop, just say.” Enjolras let out a quiet noise of agreement, his eyes still closed. This was followed by a poorly repressed groan as R palmed him through his boxers. Enjolras rolled his hips to meet him in response.

+

R had never done this before but he didn’t feel nervous. He felt completely blessed to be here, right now, with Enjolras stretched out before him; trusting him, welcoming his touch, groaning for him. He leant forward to place another kiss just above the belly button, marvelling at the warmth of the downy skin there.

He brushed his fingers lightly over the hipbones towards the waistband of Enjolras’s boxers, before dipping beneath the elastic and gently shifting them down. Enjolras obligingly lifted his hips so they could be pulled down with ease before being abandoned on the bedroom floor. He ran his thumbs up the inside of Enjoras’s thighs, enjoying the way the boy shifted beneath his touch, the way the muscles contracted, simultaneously trying to move away and move closer.

The sound Enjolras made when he finally took him into his hand was nothing short of other-worldly. He arched his back, pressing his head back into the pillow, a string of half-whispered expletives tumbling from his lips.

“Well, fuck” he gasped and R just grinned down at him, running his thumb up his shaft to brush gently across the tip. Then he bent forward and took the head into his mouth. Enjolras had to really fight the urge to sit bolt upright at the sensation that followed. Aire’s tongue gently licked around, across and under the tip, before he hollowed his cheeks and began to suck tenderly. Aire’s hand continued to stroke around the base of his cock, while alternately sucking and licking the tip, causing Enjolras to keen, trying to suppress the shallow thrusts up into Aire’s mouth.

“Fuck, oh fuck, R” he stuttered, all eloquence long gone. Aire pulled away from his cock, eyes sparkling and a laugh on his lips.

“Ye gads, Enjolras, I’ve never heard such language from you” he mocked. Enjolras, eyes still closed, body rigid and pressed against the mattress, could only groan in frustration. R resumed his activity, speeding up, sensing that Enjolras was already half gone.

When he came, Enjolras barely had a chance to call a warning and R coughed in surprise, before managing to swallow most of it down. Enjolras lay back, completely spent, his chest rising and falling rapidly while his heartbeat thrummed loudly in his chest. He became aware that R was still coughing, although he was desperately trying to disguise the fact.

Summoning as much energy as he could, he reached out for his school bag and retrieved a bottle of water which he passed to a red-faced Aire who gratefully took a swig. Once the bottle was recapped, Enjolras reached out from where he lay on the bed and pulled R down to join him.

He kissed him, sensing the salty taste of himself on his lips. Without hesitation, he reached down between them and ran his fingers along the outline of Aire’s erection through the fabric of his boxers. He impatiently pushed them down, out of his way, before softly gripping him. After a few tugs, R came in his hand, groaning Enjolras’s name.

They lay like that, fitted together perfectly like pieces of a jigsaw. Enjolras pressed a kiss to R’s shoulder, whispering a thank you.

“Happy Birthday, Enjolras,” came the soft reply.

+

He wasn’t sure how long they remained like that, but he slowly became aware that R was shifting, moving, as though trying to slide unnoticed from Enjolras’s grip.

“What’re you doing?” he whispered sleepily.

“I need to go. It’s 4am.” R pressed a kiss to his forehead, before resuming his search for the rest of his clothes.

“Will you get home ok?” Enjolras sat up and stretched, rolling his shoulders. R looked up to fire a grin at him. He decided that Enjolras with bedhead was one of the cutest sights he had ever seen.

“He’s not due back til after 6am but I’ll need a shower and I’ll probably want to stick some things in the wash.” Enjolras blushed, before throwing the duvet back and gingerly stepping out of bed. He managed to find R’s missing sock and as he handed it to him, he suddenly thought of something.

“When’s your birthday, anyway?”

“28th September,” the other boy replied, struggling into his trainers.

“Did you do anything nice?” R laughed quietly in reply.

“What do you think? Dad let me wash the car” he said, tying his laces. Enjolras didn’t say anything, twisting his mouth in displeasure.

“Never mind, Apollo, you’ve got nearly a whole year to think how to make it up to me.” He chuckled cheerfully.

When R was ready, they carefully removed the chair from behind the door. Enjolras checked all was clear before they crept silently down the stairs. They shared one final kiss in the porch before R slipped off into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a pain in the arse to get get out of my head, but somehow it seems to have made it. Hope it's ok.  
> Again, thanks to all the kind comments :)
> 
> It might take a while for me to update again. My calendar appears to be quite full at the moment, but I'll do my best!
> 
> BTW, just for reference, the age of consent in the UK is 16


	11. Blood Ties are only Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Enjolras hated him. He hated him with a burning sense of passion. He wanted to hurt him. He wanted to look him in the eyes and show him that he knew what a coward, what a monster he truly was."
> 
> The end (of term) is nigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> usual cw for abuse

Pushing open the door to the living room, Grantaire couldn't help but pause to take a breath.

His father was sitting on the sofa, eyes glued to what appeared to be a war documentary. He approached the sofa and waited to be acknowledged. He had to remind himself while he waited that he wasn't in trouble and that the letter from school clutched in his shaking hand was completely harmless. Well, perhaps not completely as it was unlikely to make his father happy, but it didn't contain any report of wrong-doing on his part.

When the adverts came on, his father finally turned his attention to him with an inquisitorial "yes?"

"This is a letter from school" he answered as calmly as possible, holding the envelope out. His father took it from him but didn't open it. Instead he studied the front of it carefully, as though it would somehow provide a clue to its contents.

"Go to your room and wait for me" he said in that thick, dark voice that Grantaire dreaded so much. He hadn't expected any different and made his way slowly up the stairs.

He had been in a state of alarm ever since the letters were handed round to everyone that afternoon. It was an invitation from the Art Department to all parents of Art GCSE students to the soirée on the Thursday night before the end of term. It was to be a simple affair, giving parents the opportunity to look at the work their children had prepared for their course. It was supposed to be a happy occasion.

Grantaire knew how his father felt about Art. He specifically knew how he felt about his son doing Art. In his view it was a soft subject with no real use or purpose in the real world. Grantaire was only permitted to take it as a subject because the more practical subjects of which his father approved were already compulsory.

Before they had parted that afternoon, Enjolras had given him a tight hug, murmuring in his ear small assurances and making him promise to text him, whatever happened.

Now, sitting on his bed with his hands resting on his knees, he tried to focus on steadying his heartbeat. This was always the worst bit; the waiting. He would rather just get whatever was coming over with. After an inexorable amount of time he heard the purposeful step of his father mounting the stairs. Grantaire got to his feet, knowing he was expected to stand and look this man in the eye.

"Are you aware of the subject of this letter?" His father’s dark eyes bore into his, as if they could somehow strip his mind of his most intimate thoughts. He tried to remember to breathe, as well as assure himself that his father was not actually a mind reader and his brain was safe from that penetrating stare.

"They were handed round in today's Art lesson so I believe it relates to the soirée just before Christmas." he replied steadily. For a horrible moment he imagined that he had been given the wrong letter and it said something else entirely, but his fears were slightly swayed when his father's attention flicked back to the paper in his hand. He cleared his throat.

"Your mother has expressed an interest in wanting to see whatever it is you have been... doing in those lessons," here he paused with a displeased furrow on his brow.

 _My god_ , thought Grantaire, _he can't even say the word ‘Art’ out loud_.

"We will therefore be attending this soirée of yours, as it is part of your course." He handed the RSVP slip, already signed, over to his son. Without another word he strode from the room. Grantaire tried to keep his sigh of relief as quiet as possible as he heard those feet make their way downstairs.

+

_R: I'm fine. All ok x_

Enjolras felt the tightness in his chest loosen as relief washed over him.

+

Preparations in the school for Christmas were well under way. The choirs and orchestras had various Christmas carol concerts to prepare for while the Year 10 Music GCSE students were going to perform their own Christmas compositions in a special assembly. All over the school was a general feeling of optimism and good will. The term was winding down, the holidays in sight.

“Of course, you know what the best Christmas present ever is, don’t you,” R winked conspiratorially at Enjolras one lunch time.

“Next week He Who Shall Not Be Named is back on his 9am to 6pm shifts.”

Enjolras made an enthusiastic noise while battling to swallow his sandwich without choking.

“I’d forgotten about that,” he finally managed, taking a sip of water. It was a total lie and they both knew it. They both knew that week had been marked in Enjolras’s diary for sometime with a big, red R.

+

_Monday_

“What do you want to watch?” Enjolras asked, chucking his school bag on the floor and heading over to where his DVDs were kept. R stretched himself out on the bed, letting out a contented sigh. He had missed this.

“Something festive,” he replied, rolling his shoulders and relaxing down against the pillows. Enjolras pursed his lips and flicked through a few more choices before extracting a boxset and inserting a disc.

“Ever watched _Blackadder_?” he climbed onto the bed, snuggling down into his boyfriend’s side.

“That doesn’t sound particularly festive…” R queried suspiciously. Enjolras snorted and pressed play.

+

Tuesday

“Seriously, can we watch something festive tonight?” R followed Enjolras up the stairs, glass of squash and a tin of Quality Street in hand.

“You’re a philistine,” the blonde replied, a smirk playing about his lips. “ _Blackadder’s Christmas Carol_ is perfectly festive. It even has the word ‘Christmas’ in the title”.

He laughed at R’s petulant pout. Enjolras sighed, pretended to give in and went to retrieve his mother’s copy of _Die Hard_ from downstairs. Afterwards R raised a sardonic eyebrow at his smug boyfriend.

“Sorry, tell me again how that was festive?” Enjolras’s lips twitched.

“They played ‘ _Let it Snow_ ’ at the end.” He replied, managing to keep his face straight.

“Right. Of course. Silly me.”

+

_Wednesday_

“Ok, I promise, tonight we can watch something properly festive.” On getting no reply, Enjolras turned around, smile on his face, to find R sitting cross legged on his bed looking surprisingly serious.

“R? What is it?”

R patted the bed next to him, motioning the blonde to come and join him. Enjolras hopped up next to him and they sat together, knee to knee.

"I've got you something," he said quietly. "For Christmas, I mean," and he produced his portfolio from his bag. Enjolras leaned forward, his eyes alight with curiosity.

Carefully, Aire extracted a plastic wallet containing a sheet of paper which he passed to his boyfriend.

"Sorry it's not wrapped or anything," he mumbled, staring at his hands. Enjolras held his breath as he took the wallet and turned it over. He gasped, stunned.

The first thing he noticed was the riot of colour, contrasting greys and greens, that leapt off the page. It was a beautifully intricate sketch of Trafalgar Square. Nelson's column rose up in the background, with a fountain off to the right, the water seeming to splash right off the paper. Around the scene, Lowry-esque figures darted about, while in between were blocks of red for the London buses. Right in the middle, drawing the eye with its vibrant colour and shading, stood the Christmas tree. Beneath it were two figures, only their backs visible as they stared up at the tree, arm in arm; one blonde, one brunette.

"Is that us?" He breathed in awe. R blushed.

"Do you like it?" A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"It's beautiful!" he exclaimed. R's smile grew wider at the wonder evident in his tone.

"I mean, I knew you took Art but I never thought for a moment…" he paused, lost for words.

"Thank you," he said finally, hoping that everything he somehow couldn't vocalise would be found in those two words.

A small embarrassing silence followed while Enjolras continued to stare at the drawing. Then he seemed to wake from his trance.

"I have something for you too," he said, shifting to reach over to his bedside table. He pulled open the drawer and retrieved a small parcel wrapped neatly. He passed it to R who stared at it for a moment, running his fingers lightly over the wrapping paper. Enjolras broke into a grin.

"Well open it then!" He urged, bouncing slightly in anticipation.

Carefully, taking his time, R peeled back the wrapping paper to reveal a book. He almost dropped it in shock.

" _Harry Potter et la Coupe de Feu_ " he whispered, his eyes as big as saucers.

"Is that ok?" Enjolras nervously ran a hand through his curls. R looked up, his mouth attempting unsuccessfully to form coherant words.

"It's... wow. I can't believe you remembered." he muttered, eyes back on the book in his hands. Enjolras blushed and smiled.

"Open it up," he instructed. R did as he was told. Inscribed on the front cover in Enjolras's cursive hand were the words _My Dear R,_   _with love at Christmas - E_.

Enjolras watched as R mouthed the words silently.

"I thought you could keep it here, you know; if you were worried about taking it home. But it's definitely yours because it has your name in it" he laughed lightly, reached out to lace their fingers together. R looked back up at him, an impossible smile on his face.

+

They spent Thursday afternoon setting up the Art rooms for the evening's event, which somehow managed to include a twenty minute interlude in the stock cupboard. Pressed against each other in the semi darkness, a roll of crepe paper digging in his back, the only thing R was aware of was Enjolras's leg pushed purposefully between his thighs.

He groaned into his boyfriend's neck while the other rolled his hips against him, teasingly.

"Oh god you'll have to stop," he shivered, as Enjolras bit down on his shoulder through his shirt. The blonde chuckled.

"Seriously, or it’ll get messy and it's not like I carry spare underwear around with me." This just seemed to encourage the other boy who bent forward as though to share a secret.

"I can always run home and get some." R thought his brain might melt. He let out a faint whimper.

"Oh fuck, Enjolras, you're evil."

+

Even if he was now wearing a pair of clean red boxers, it didn't suppress the rising sense of doom as his parents, his teachers, his art work and his boyfriend were all about to be in the same room.

Enjolras had promised he wouldn't do anything to draw attention to the fact that he and R were anything more than two people who happened to be in the same school, but even that didn't make him feel any better about what was to come.

Aire lived in terror of his father finding out that not only had he made a friend (something his father had been actively working against for some years now) but that he would somehow discover that Enjolras was so much more than that.

He waited with the other Art students by the door of the Art block, nervously biting his nails while keeping a eye out for his parents’ car. Already a number of families were circulating with their sons and daughters, admiring their work and chatting happily with the teachers. Finally his mother and father appeared. She was smiling warmly at him while he bore an inscrutable expression.

Grantaire welcomed them, kissing his mother softly on the cheek. He offered them some refreshments which his father declined, telling him to lead on. He felt a soft squeeze of encouragement on his arm from his mother. Taking a small breath of reassurance he led them into the Art room.

The sound of warm and happy conversations and the easy atmosphere made little impact on Grantaire's twisting stomach. His father said nothing as he led them through the room over to where his work was displayed. As per the curriculum, it was a mixture of mediums. There were some sketches in charcoal, a couple of chalk drawings and two works in acrylics. There was a 3D piece, a clay sculpture and a photography piece where he had taken the school camera into the spinney and formed a collage of the resulting images to make a chameleon.

His mother was complimenting the sculpture of a waterfall made of slices of aluminium cans when the teacher approached. She shook hands warmly with both his mother and father before his father had the opportunity to refuse.

"You must be so proud of your son," she gushed. "He really is a most talented young man." R felt the tips of his ears burn but his father remained impassive. He turned a critical eye over some of the work before answering that he was afraid he did not really understand modern Art however, as she was the teacher, he must defer to her judgement.

The teacher didn't seem to pick up on the undercurrent to his comment, instead choosing to continue to compliment what a good student Grantaire was and how much he brought to the class. Grantaire wanted to sink through the floor. Across the room, he spied Enjolras giving him a worried look. He deliberately snapped his eyes back onto his teacher, his work, anything to keep his gaze away from that corner of the room.

He started reciting Latin verbs over and over in his head in an attempt to keep calm; Cucurri, Cucurristi, Cucurrit, Cucurrimus, Cucurristis, Cucurrerunt.

From the corner of his eye he observed Enjolras walking towards the door. They briefly made eye contact before he exited towards the toilets. Grantaire suddenly became aware that his teacher had now finished talking and an awkward silence had settled over the assembled company.

"I'm sorry, may I please be excused? I need the bathroom." he stuttered. His father frowned at him.

"That's a good idea" his mother agreed, "You can show me where they are." She looked expectantly up at her husband who waited a moment before replying.

"I'll meet you by the car" he said simply, turning to nod stiffly at the teacher. He then strode purposefully towards to exit.

R sighed and escorted his mother through the door at the opposite end of the room towards the toilets. Once out in the corridor she smiled at him reassuringly.

"Take your time," she whispered, before entering the ladies.

+

Enjolras was pacing up and down across the floor of the boys’ toilets. His hands were clenching and unclenching as he battled the sense of rage and injustice in his chest.

He had stood in the Art room for quite some time, observing first poor Aire who had grown greener and greener, and then turning his attention to the man he stood next to; the man who had looked the teacher in the eye and nodded along to whatever was being said.

How could he? How _dare_ he? How could that despicable human being just stand there and listen to all those wonderful things being said about his son, playing the dutiful parent, when the boy in question was still wearing the marks from a beating a mere five days before?

Enjolras hated him. He hated him with a burning sense of passion. He wanted to hurt him. He wanted to look him in the eyes and show him that he knew what a coward, what a monster he truly was. It wasn't right for that man to be there.

He closed his eyes, rubbing his palms over his eyelids, trying to scrub out the memory of the lost look on his boyfriend’s face as he stood helplessly next to his father. Just then the door swung open and there he was.

“Oh, god, are you all right?”

R looked like he was going to faint, or be sick, or possibly both. The boy nodded, tugging his right hand through his curls, his eyes darting around the room, unable to fix on anything specific.

“She shouldn’t have said anything.” He mumbled, more to himself.

“What did she say?” Enjolras reached out to rest his palm on R’s cheek, gently steering his face towards him. He looked so young, so lost.

“She said I was talented.” He gulped.

“Well, she’s right.” This was obviously the wrong thing to say. R scrunched his eyes closed, shaking his head furiously.

“Not to him. She shouldn’t have said it, not to him.”

Enjolras pulled him tightly into a hug. “You listen to me,” he said intently into his ear. “You are amazing. You’re brilliant.” Aire let out a choked sob. “You’re so bloody talented it makes my insides hurt.” He felt R shudder against his shoulder. After a moment he released him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow yeah?” he kept his eyes fixed on R’s face. The other boy nodded slowly.

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.” Still chewing his lip, he stepped out of the bathroom and was gone.

+

The next day was Friday, the last day of term before the Christmas break. At registration there was a general sense of bedlam, as people exchanged Christmas cards and plans for the holidays. Enjolras waited and waited but the chair next to him remained empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a very bad person and I'm sorry.
> 
> Title is taken from Regina Spektor's 'Better'.


	12. Our Shadows Taller Than Our Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That touch which was only ever gentle and caressing; those eyes which only ever looked at him with passion, trust and depth; those lips which only ever met his with warmth and love. How the fuck had he even considered trying to live without this?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for abuse

It was the first day of the holidays.

Judging by the noise coming from downstairs, Enjolras’s mother had finally been allowed to put her Christmas album in the CD player. Feeling the exact opposite of Christmassy, he pulled the duvet over his head in an effort to block out Noddy Holder’s distinctive vocals.

Enjolras needed to pull himself together before he did something rash. His parents were already giving him funny looks after he had come home from school, face like thunder, and had locked himself away in his bedroom until forced out for dinner.

Lying in bed, trying to ignore the echo of Aire’s scent that still clung to his sheets, he played over the events of the previous day in his head.

At first, when R hadn’t appeared he hadn’t been that worried. There could be lots of reasons as to why he had chosen not to come to school early as usual.

With ten minutes to go before the start of registration he started to feel slightly apprehensive. R had never missed a day’s school since the start of September. With five minutes to go, apprehension gave way to concern. Five minutes after registration had commenced, concern swiftly evolved into worry. Worry descended into panic as registration finished and everyone moved off to the first class of the day.

The form tutor had pulled Enjolras to one side to subtly enquire how the night before had gone. She especially seemed interested to know if Grantaire had appeared unwell at all. Enjolras, unexpectedly put on the spot, hadn’t known how to respond. He couldn’t exactly answer that Grantaire had been very far from ok, but he couldn’t truthfully answer that he had been ill either.

He settled for a non-committal response; that he had seemed rather tired when he saw him and that he and his family had left before the end of the evening. The tutor nodded in a distracted fashion and permitted him to go on to his first class. A stone settled in the base of Enjolras’s stomach; evidently R being absent was worthy of note by the form tutor.

Enjolras spent the entire day in purgatory. His head was awash with ideas. What could possibly have kept Aire away from school that day; maybe he had the flu? Maybe there had been a car crash. He had dismissed that one out of turn as the school would have been informed by now. Surely, though, he would have found a way to let Enjolras know he was ok? Unless he wasn’t able to…

His mind spiralled around and around.

At lunch time he briefly considered simply going round to R’s house and knocking on the door, consequences be damned. Then he remembered that he had absolutely no idea where R lived.

He tried to tell himself that he was being stupid, that he was overreacting and there was probably nothing to worry about. He had almost convinced himself as he reached the end of the day and the class was dismissed with a cheery “Merry Christmas” from the form tutor. He wondered down the corridor towards his locker when he stopped in his tracks.

R's locker was open. From under the door he could see a familiar pair of jean-clad legs. It took him a moment to process that Aire was there, right in front of him.

"R." That single letter was all he could manage. A shock of curls peered round the door.

"Hi." R's voice was flat and toneless. He didn't meet Enjolras's eyes, instead returning to shuffle in his locker. "I'm just picking up some stuff for the holidays."

Enjolras barely noticed what he said, the strength of the relief almost over-powering him.

"What happened today? Where were you? Are you... Oh" Whatever he was about to say was cut off as R finished poking about in his locker and closed the door using his elbow. There was a shiny white cast where his right hand should have been. R followed Enjolras’s line of sight, looking down at the cast like he had only just noticed it. There was a horrible silence as the elation of the previous thirty seconds evaporated as quickly as it had arrived.

"It's a comminuted fracture of the metacarpals," the boy articulated, his tongue negotiating the unfamiliar medical terms with a rehearsed ease. "Means 'broken hand'"

Enjolras's pulse thumped painfully in his ears. He couldn’t take his eyes away from those finger tips only just visible beyond the edge of the plaster.

"What did he do?" It was such a loaded question, delivered in a calm, low tone. Enjolras’s own voice was unfamiliar to his ears, his brain clouded with fury. The other boy didn’t answer, but instead turned to go.

"We're not talking about this right now."

"Aire, please..."

"We are NOT talking about this right now!"

Enjolras took a step back, taking in R's posture, his body language. His eyes were dark and shuttered. The metaphorical walls he had thrown up between them were almost tangible.

 

_-_

_Grantaire doesn't tell him about the row that started almost the second he got in the car. He doesn't tell him what it felt like to have the door slammed on his hand repeatedly until he was begging for it to stop. Doesn't tell him how his father took his hand, poking and squeezing the bones, sneering as he cried out, only to release it, proclaiming that he was making a fuss over nothing. Doesn't tell him how he spent that night desperately trying to make as little sound as possible until he was finally permitted to go for an x-ray in the morning. Doesn't say how his father joked with the triage nurse about how clumsy teenage boys could be._

_-_

R’s face was inscrutable, untranslatable. The eyes were empty. It was a shell of a person standing before him.

"We can't carry on like this" Enjolras broke the détente, his voice hoarse. R rounded on him.

"No, you see, I _can_ carry on like this." He snapped. "This is my life. This is what I do. Whether you can or not is entirely a matter for you."

They stared at each other. Enjolras barely recognised the person in front of him. Something passed over R's eyes, a flash of something but before Enjolras could begin to try and comprehend what it might have been the moment had passed. Aire straightened up. He shook his head slightly, slung his bag on his back with his good arm and started to walk away.

"Wait." The other boy called after him. "Don't... I don't want to say goodbye like this." He stared at R's retreating back. The brunette turned slightly to call over his shoulder but never stopped walking.

"You have yourself a nice Christmas, Enjolras."

+

There was a knock at his bedroom door. Enjolras groaned, wrestling himself free of the duvet.

“Sweetheart?”

Of course it was his mother, coming to check he was still alive. He rubbed the sleep and memories from his eyes and pulled himself from his pit. It struck him as he crossed the carpet to the door that he never used to be like this.

There’s a fragile smile waiting for him on the landing.

“I'm making mince pies. Want to help?” It never even occurred to him to say no.

Fifteen minutes later they were both in the kitchen, Christmas songs played quietly in the background while they got messy with flour as they made the dough.

“What is it, love?” she asks, her eyes fixed on the sieve as she sifted into the bowl. Enjolras closed his eyes. If only he could tell her; but where would he start? He chewed his lip, considering.

“What if someone is in trouble, but they won’t let you help them. What do you do?” he tapped at the side of the sieve to encourage some of the lumpier bits of the flour to behave. His mother cast him an appraising glance which he pretended to ignore.

“Well that depends. When you say ‘trouble’… are they doing anything illegal?”

“No,”

“Are they in any danger?” This one was slightly harder to answer. He stuck his tongue between his teeth as he considered a response.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly, and then seeing his mother’s extremely worried glance he added “I mean ‘danger’ is such a wide ranging term. It’s not mortal danger if that helps.” He looked at her to see if his quick words had worked. She sighed and set the sieve down.

“All hypotheses aside, are you being bullied?”

“No! Oh, no. It’s not that” His surprise at the question must have convinced her that he gave a true response as, after a few more moments of that piercing gaze, she once again took up the sieve to continue. They worked in silence together, pounding the dough and then rolling it out ready to be cut.

“I think the only thing you can do is be there for them.” She said calmly, sliding a tablespoon of mincemeat into the base of a pie. Enjolras listened but didn’t look up.

“If it isn’t illegal and they aren’t in ‘mortal danger’ as you put it, then all you have left is compassion and support.” She looked at her son to see how he reacted. He seemed to be nodding to himself, as though he had known that was the only answer all along.

+

It was a new year and a new term, yet the first day back found Enjolras standing in his usual place by the gates of the school at a ridiculously early time hoping and praying that R would appear so that they could talk.

There had been a deafening silence over the holidays. He had sent a text on Christmas day but had received no response. He had not necessarily expected to hear from Aire. He told himself that a broken hand probably meant that he could no longer safely and silently lift the floorboards, much less text for something so frivolous as Christmas. All the same he was disappointed.

He was also haunted by the sensation that he and his boyfriend had somehow fought, had unfathomably fallen out over an argument he didn’t remember having. He could see those reproachful eyes staring at him, accusing him of something though he had no idea what it was he was supposed to have done.

As it turned out, they were granted plenty of time. It was fifteen minutes before the start of registration when Aire sloped through the gates. The first thing Enjolras noticed was the over-abundance of doodles in black marker that covered the cast, disguising its ugliness as a piece of art.

“Can we talk?” His sudden appearance had obviously surprised the brown-haired boy, who shivered slightly at the sound of his voice.

“Isn't that what we're doing right now?” The mask was back, supported by the apparent flippancy of his argument. Enjolras wasn’t fooled. He settled his eyes onto R, giving him the full force of his attention. He saw those shoulders slump, submitting to the gaze and following as he led them somewhere less public.

When they arrived at Enjolras’s chosen destination, the secluded spot behind the Art building, it was R who spoke first.

“Look,” he said, rubbing his forehead with his good hand, his voice absent of any of the bravado from before, “Please just say it.” Enjolras said nothing, wondering what the hell he was supposed to say, what R was expecting him to say.

“Say it's over. I can take it.”

For the first time in two weeks the pair looked at each other, really looked. Enjolras saw dark circles, grey skin and fatigue all patched together with plaster. He wondered what R saw when he looked back.

“Why... why would I ever say that?” He was appalled at the idea, his mouth twisted. R shrugged, eyes darting away.

“You were pretty fucking clear before,” he quipped, bitterly. “You said you didn't want to do this any more.”

Enjolras felt the ground shift beneath his feet.

“No” was all he could initially manage. “I... I swear to... Is that what you honestly think?!” His stomach turned over. He was going to be sick; he was definitely going to be sick.

He couldn’t even breathe at this point. Enjolras, who was always so eloquent, always prepared, always so self-assured and confident with his vocabulary; but here he was struggling for breath, struggling with the ability to communicate. He tried to take a breath but nothing happened so he tried again. He saw R's eyes widen for a moment in understanding just as his eyes began to blur.

“Fuck, Enjolras, are you crying?”

“No, I’m not!” he turned away, but his voice betrayed him. It was R's turn to be appalled.

“Why would you say that?” Enjolras stuttered gruffly. Was that sorry echo really coming from him, was it Enjolras who sounded so broken?

Suddenly R was there. Those glorious arms were round him. That beautiful earthy smell unique to him alone was engulfing Enjolras, wrapping him up safely. He breathed it in, let it fill his lungs, while Aire muttered against his hair.

“I’m sorry,” they both whispered together at the same time.

“Call it a nil score draw?” R murmured into his neck. Enjolras could only nod in agreement, before pulling back just enough to kiss him.

These were not gentle, chaste kisses pressed against welcome lips. These were angry, incensed, passionate kisses of hunger and of need. There was pushing and pulling and clawing on both sides. There was groaning and biting and confusion and they furiously fought each other with love, pulling at hair and shirts before they wrapped each other tightly as if terrified the very rotation of the earth might tear them apart.

“You bloody fool” whimpered Enjolras into his shirt. “Can’t you see that I love you?”

R became still in his arms, so he withdrew just enough so that their foreheads rested together.

“We _are_ doing this. Together. See this?” He dragged their clasped hands up into view of them both, squeezing tightly to reinforce the point.

“This is how it will always be.” The fire was back, the passion and certainty were both back. Enjolras returned to himself.

They stared at each other, huffing and out of breath. Each took the measure of the other.

“Ok,” R swallowed. “Together.”

“Right,” the blonde angrily brushed the treacherous tears from his face. “Let’s get to class before we're late.”

+

R couldn’t take his eyes of Enjolras. He never wanted to let him out of his sight again.

Over the holidays he had convinced himself that Enjolras didn’t care, had never cared. He kept replaying their last conversation over and over in his head. _We can’t go on like this_. He had known it was only a matter of time, had known from the start that eventually Enjolras would work out that he was just too much bother to cope with, was too fucked up to fix.

It was only natural that he would walk away. He told himself that he was better off this way.

Then the marble had cracked before his very eyes.

When their lips had met, when he finally grasped just how much he had misunderstood, he wondered how the hell he could ever have thought about giving this up. That touch which was only ever gentle and caressing; those eyes which only ever looked at him with passion, trust and depth; those lips which only ever met his with warmth and love. How the fuck had he even considered trying to live without this?

When he had heard those horrendous six words in the corridor on the last day of term, R had felt something fracture. He now knew it was his heart. That self same heart which was now cellotaped together with seven new words. _Can’t you see that I love you_.

He, too, was in love. Hopelessly, horribly, ridiculously in love. He was doomed, and he had never been happier.

+

“You need to understand something.”

It was lunch time and they had retreated to the spinney, eager to have some privacy after the trauma of the past two weeks. Enjolras and Aire were folded together, lost in each other’s tight grip.

“There will always be a part of me that will want you to leave. Wanting you to be safe does not make me a bad person.” His clear, powerful voice was steady and controlled, his hands knotted in R’s sweater, preventing him from pulling away. He pressed a conciliatory kiss to his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“But, and this bit is important, nothing. I repeat, nothing will change how I feel. I respect your choice to stay. I will always support you. Just, please, don’t push me away.”

The spinney was their safe place, with only the whispering leaves and whistling blackbirds for company. This close together, they each heard the heartbeat of the other. R closed his eyes.

“I promise”

+

R was to be in plaster until the 30th January, so his fractures would be fully healed in time to sit the mock exams in February. Both were anxious to do well in the exams, though perhaps for different reasons.

Despite the pressures put upon them, they sought and found comfort in each other. They were content to sit in the library together to study, happy to be in silent company. They tested each other on chemical symbols from the periodic table, on recognising the different pattern of waves and on Pythagoras’s theorem. Enjolras listened to Aire’s latin verbs. R listened to Enjolras’s description of the characteristics and climate of deciduous woodland.

It was decidedly unfair that their blessed and longed-for six days of respite fell smack bang in the middle of the exam period. R had decided to say nothing about it, setting his own longing and disappointment aside in favour of focussing on the next six day break which would occur in March. It was only twenty-seven days after all.

He was therefore extremely surprised when Enjolras cornered him one day to ask him what he would like to do.

“We should do something, even for just one of the days” he said simply. R couldn’t believe his ears! Enjolras, actively promoting a break away from study during exams?

“Who are you, and what have you done with my boyfriend” he joked. Enjolras was glad to see him smile.

+

“Whose bloody idea was this,” he grumbled from underneath his beanie hat as the February wind swept his curls back into his face. Enjolras smirked at him, trying to ignore the chattering of his teeth.

It had been R’s decision; he had insisted. It had taken them an hour and a half to get there so it meant they only had three hours to enjoy themselves before they had to set off home again, but here they were. Bognor Regis.

Enjolras had reeled off a list of possibilities for the day; they could have gone back to London as there was a never-ending supply of things to do there. They could have gone to the Natural History Museum, the Science Museum, the British Museum, the bloody V&A Museum, if they had been so inclined. There was the Tate Gallery, the Tate Modern and a seemingly indefinite number of plays and musicals in the West End.

But in the end it was R’s choice and R had insisted that they go to the beach.

“There’s something terribly British about eating an ice cream on the beach in February,” he had said loftily. Standing on the promenade, hands stuffed deeply into his pockets to fend off the frostbite, Enjolras had to agree with him.

Bognor was a relic of a bygone age, a throwback to the proud Victorian heritage of ‘taking the sea air’. It was famous for two things; the final words of George V, and its pier. George had long since shuffled off this mortal coil, condemning the town to perpetual humiliation. The pier had fared slightly worse, having been rendered a significant 60 feet shorter in bad storms some years before. However, R had requested a beach and there was definitely one of those.

“What would you like to do first?” Enjolras had shivered, hoping that whatever it was involved being inside.

“Seeing as the smuggling trade has been rather lax since the 18th century, may I suggest a round of crazy golf? Or perhaps it might be warmer on the pier…” he mused.

“Arcades on the pier it is,” said Enjolras firmly, taking purposeful strides towards to somewhat dilapidated construction. They ended up feeding £2.50 into the 2p slot machines, getting caught up in the hypnotic, repetitive action of the sliders going back and forth. They also shared in an extremely loud and aggressive game of air hockey, which R insisted he won, despite Enjolras’s protestations of foul play.

“I scored the winning goal!” R gloated.

“Yeah, only because I was unable to defend my goal after you deliberately slammed my hand with the puck” he countered sulkily. R then made an obvious joke at the expense of Enjolras’s unprotected goal which earned him a shove in the side for his troubles.

Enjolras indulged his boyfriend by agreeing to eat fish and chips for lunch on the beach. The wind was whipping up furiously by this point, salt and sand mixing freely with the chips. He couldn’t help but smile at how much R was evidently enjoying himself. They snuggled up close, each feeding the other with the little wooden forks.

“This is the life” he sighed contentedly, his mouth full of fish. Enjolras thought he was mad and told him so with a shake of his head.

“It is though!” he insisted, extending his arms out to the stormy sea in front of them. “Where else in the world would you expect to do this? None of your white sandy beaches, hot temperatures and bikini-clad sea nymphs here, oh no! Give me an honest, British beach with its seaweed and pebbles and treacherous undercurrents.”

Clapping his hands together to rid them of most of the salt and vinegar, he extracted a pencil and sketch book from his rucksack, before resting on his knees in an attempt to capture the scene before him.

It was a pleasure to watch him work, to see his eyes dart from the paper to the horizon. Enjolras was quite entranced. The finished product was a moody rendering of the sky and sea, the shell of the pier off to the right adding to the gentle dystopian atmosphere of the piece.

“I can’t tell you how good it is to be able to draw again,” he mused to himself, flexing his fingers. “Still not completely right, but a hell of a lot better now they’re not encased in concrete.”

Enjolras reached forward to brush an errant brown curl away from his boyfriend’s face back behind his ear where it belonged. R’s brown eyes were everywhere, taking in the scenery around them, capturing every detail and recording it in pencil. Enjolras wished he could see what R could see.

+

The train home was muted silence, punctuated by frustrated sighs.

“Next week is going to be hell.” R said gruffly, staring out of the window as the landscape rushed past. Enjolras nodded. Next week was half term. “You Know Who is on 12am - 9am hours. Means I have to be silent throughout the day.” He stared straight ahead, lost in his own thoughts.

“Come to mine.” Enjolras snaked an arm around him, pulling him close. “I'll sneak you in at the dead of night. We’ll watch movies til dawn before kicking you out. Then you can sleep all day too.” He folded his arms, giving his boyfriend a smug look which R returned with glee.

“Watch movies.” R he challenged, raising an eyebrow. Enjolras lowered his eyes demurely, crooking his head to one side.

“Or there are… other options.”

“Other options?” they both chuckled, the space between them closing as they kissed softly.

“I love you.” The smile had gone, replaced by an earnest honesty and a desire to be understood. R meant this with all his heart. He felt Enjolras’s lips quirk into a smile beneath his own.

“Love you too.”

+

Enjolras’s bed was warm and cozy and they were lost together beneath the duvet. An alarm was already set to remind them to break apart in the early hours of the morning so that R could retreat with the shadows before the dawn. They did not think about tomorrow as they pressed against one another in the dark. They were not concerned about discovery as they moaned silently against each other’s skin. In this moment they were content, tangled, and one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, firstly thank you to all of you for your comments - I am SO SORRY for putting you through that (not sorry at all). These two... I cannot begin to tell you how they haunt me!
> 
> This is not quite the beginning of the end, although I think we're probably well past the end of the beginning. But it is something of a gear shift. April is approaching in the same way that Winter is Coming.
> 
> A few thoughts; Enjolras and crying. It is my argument that at this moment in time he is a 16 year old boy under a tremendous amount of pressure. Furthermore, in my head, the reasons he is able to cry now goes a long way to explain why he's such a charming, terrible statue at 22.
> 
> Incidentally, I love the V&A, but I can't see it being Enjolras's cup of tea somehow.
> 
> I mean no disrespect to the inhabitants of Bognor Regis, but even they must agree it is extremely dismal in February.
> 
> The title is a Led Zeppelin reference.


	13. Saturday 8th March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They moved together like an argument neither was sure they wanted to win. They would roll, seeking friction, seeking dominance, grabbing and kissing and biting. Hands pulled through hair, hip to hip, knee to knee, toes curling and breaths harsh and ragged."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically fluff and smut.

Enjolras was completely relaxed, lying half naked on his bed while R perched on the chest of drawers at the end of his bed in just his boxers, feet resting against the bedstead. On his knee was a sketch book and Enjolras smiled, feeling the steady gaze of those brown eyes as they took him in and translated him onto paper.

He had a collection of these pieces hidden in his sock drawer. R’s room and bag were subject to random searches and Enjolras would not entertain the idea of R destroying his own work so they had agreed to keep them here.

His glance flicked up to the wall where the Trafalgar picture had been hung, proudly displayed in a frame. He remembered how R had blushed profusely when he first spotted it, pleased that Enjolras held his gift in such high regard.

It was Saturday morning. The fates had smiled on them this weekend. Enjolras’s father was on a course in Edinburgh while his mother was at the charity shop where she volunteered three days a week. It was day two of their Six Days and they had decided not to go anywhere this time, instead choosing to spend the day in the warmth and privacy of each other’s company. R must have run to Enjolras’s house the second his father had left for work because he was knocking on the door, somewhat out of breath, at 9:10am.

As they relaxed together, the atmosphere easy and the air warm, Enjolras wondered if now was a good time for a change in tempo, to bring up something that had been on his mind for at least two weeks.

In the past three months since Enjolras’s birthday, they had learned a lot about each other; what made the other squirm, groan and buck with pleasure. Where to kiss, where to touch, where to lick, where to press.

He had learned to love that surprised gasp that R always gave at the first touch of his lips around his cock. He knew how to make him arch his back by pressing his finger to the skin of the perineum. Similarly R had discovered quite early on that Enjolras would almost melt to jelly if he ran his fingers gently down the cleft between his arse. He had used it to his advantage on a number of occasions.

They moved together like an argument neither was sure they wanted to win. They would roll, seeking friction, seeking dominance, grabbing and kissing and biting. Hands pulled through hair, hip to hip, knee to knee, toes curling and breaths harsh and ragged.

Enjolras appreciated R's dexterous fingers, the way they traced him, played him and brought him mercilessly to orgasm. Aire loved Enjolras's mouth, adored those lips and the places they would find. He loved the way he would sweep his tongue across his collarbone, the way he gently bit down with lip-sheathed teeth on his nipples, how he would lick and nip at his thighs.

Enjolras sat up, suddenly decided. R followed his movements with a look of amusement as his model rolled over towards the bedside table. He appreciated the view afforded to him of Enjolras's back, the way his muscles in his shoulders shifted beneath the skin, the way that glorious expanse of back presented itself, begging to be kissed, to be licked. He felt unbelievably lucky to be here right now, to see this. This was home. Here in his boyfriend's arms, his bed, was where his heart lay.

Enjolras extracted a bag from the drawer and shuffled forward to the end of the bed.

"I have something for us," he said, managing to sound a lot more confident than he felt. This was a big deal, something he had been working towards for a while, it just had never seemed like the right time.

R took the bag, his face alight with curiosity. He almost fell from his position on the chest of drawers when he saw what was in the bag. He looked back up at Enjolras with wide eyes.

"And what, pray tell young sir, would you have me do with these?"

He quirked an eyebrow, eyes were now bright with amusement but there was something else, some other emotion hiding beneath the surface. Enjolras frowned.

"Be serious," he muttered, flushing a bright red. Surely he didn't need to spell it out. R chuckled, a high pitched, slightly hysterical noise, while he forcefully rubbed at the back of his neck with his hand.

"He hands me a bag of lubricant and condoms and expects me to be serious? I am wild!" He grumbled pleasantly to himself, eyes staring back down at the contents of the bag.

Enjolras tugged at his hair, a habit he had picked up from his boyfriend. For thirteen days he had been thinking about this. Ever since those nights at Half Term, where R became a fixture in his bed between 1am and 4:30am, when they had lain together in the dark, skin on skin, compressed together beneath the sheets.

Ever since the final night, the night their usual struggle had ended with R above him and he had allowed himself to be pinned back into the pillows. Those artistic fingers worked at him, stroking his shaft while he muttered sweet caresses into his ear; how amazing he looked, how he felt beneath him, how he would like to paint him, would like to fuck him. Enjolras shivered at the memory.

Those words had whirled round his head for days, which had resulted in him striding purposefully into a chemists with his head held high. He fixed a glare at the cashier, daring them to say anything while he made his purchases.

+

“Are you sure about this?” There it was again, that other emotion in R’s eyes. Was it doubt? Possibly concern. Whatever it was, Enjolras held the gaze of those soft brown eyes steadily.

“You would not be holding that bag if I wasn’t sure.” He replied, simply. “I might ask you the same. Are _you_ ok with this?” They were both novices after all. For all his words, perhaps R wasn’t as ready for this as he was.

He was actually grateful that Aire considered the question seriously for a moment, rather than providing a quick and flippant response.

“How would we… I mean, who…” his ears had morphed to a bright red as he tried to stumble out his meaning. Enjolras broke into what he hoped was a convincing and reassuring smile. He shifted on his knees to move closer to where R was staring at him. He dropped his eyes modestly, a teasing smirk playing about his lips. He leaned forward to whisper a secret in his boyfriend’s ear.

“To use your words, I want you to fuck me.”

+

R could feel his braincells exploding one by one inside his head. The filth that came out of this boy’s mouth sometimes! Enjolras, who gave off the air of the perpetually sweet and innocent, hardly ever swore. He preferred to utilize his wide-ranging vocabulary, but still managed to come out with the most vulgar terminology with those large blue eyes fixed demurely upon him. It was unbelievably hot.

It was undeniable the effect those words had on him. He let out a slow breath which he prayed didn’t sound like a whimper. The blue eyes were still gazing at him, filled with trust and lust and sincerity. What on earth had he done to deserve this moment?

He brought his right arm across his chest to rub thoughtfully at the back of his neck, but really there was nothing to think about. He wanted this so much. He had admired, loved and venerated Enjolras since he’d first strolled into the classroom in September. The fact that this amazing human being was now sitting here, relaxed and calm and _asking to be fucked_ was just brain-boggling.

He hopped down from the chest of drawers, sketch book long abandoned. Enjolras made room for him on the bed. The blonde brought his gentle hands up to cup his face and R leaned into his warm touch.

The first kiss was chaste, as though they had never been intimate before. It was a test. Enjolras welcomed him with enthusiasm. They spent a few moments tracing the old familiar routes with each other, running fingers here and lips there, some soft push-me pull-you to be comfortable, to forget the enormity of what they were about to do, the new territory they were about to tread.

Enjolras led the way, lying back against the pillows, pulling Aire down with him. His hands were light against the other boy’s rib cage. He reached forward to place a hand over R’s chest to feel the heart thumping within. His face broke into a dazzling smile which the brunette mirrored. He momentarily rested his head on the blonde’s chest, also listening for that familiar rhythm.

“Ok,” he whispered, though he wasn’t sure if he was reassuring himself or the young god who lay beneath him. He felt Enjolras chuckle. “If you need to, we’ll stop,” he said, staring seriously into his boyfriend’s eyes. Enjolras smiled lazily up at him.

“If you need to,” he returned, “we’ll stop.”

“Ok” R said again.

He shuffled down the bed, his fingers moving carefully over Enjolras’s hips, tugging gently at the boxers there. Enjolras was already hard with anticipation. R set his shoulders, his mouth forming into a grim line of concentration which caused a burst of laughter from above.

“I’m sorry,” giggled Enjolras, and _god_ wasn’t that the cutest thing he’d ever heard. “You just look so serious. This is supposed to be fun.”

Aire allowed a smile. He then placed a kiss at the base of the boy’s shaft, causing him to groan, eyes closing and head dropping back onto the pillow.

“Flip over,” he murmured. Enjolras opened a suspicious eye.

“I’m not a bloody gynaecologist, now turn over,” he quipped, his nerves getting the better of him. Enjolras rolled his eyes, flopping onto his stomach.

R allowed himself to enjoy the sight before him, thanking his lucky stars for the day he was born. He ran a teasing finger down the curve of that perfect arse, causing a shiver and a whimper, much to his satisfaction. He prised the lube from its packet and squeezed a fair amount onto his fingers.

“Ready?” There was a muffled sound of agreement.

Carefully, R gently pressed his finger between Enjolras’s cheeks. He knew how much it turned the other boy on, recognising the shudder. He teased for a moment, getting Enjolras used to the sensation, before seeking out his entrance. He softly massaged the area, circling and increasing the pressure, pleased with the soft noises his boyfriend made in response. Then, ever so slowly, he pressed in.

At first he only went up to the first knuckle, pausing at Enjolras’s gasp, but continuing as it was followed by an impatient huff. Enjolras was tight, the muscles constricting and contracting to accommodate him. He cautiously wiggled his finger, which resulted in a very soft moan.

“Is this ok?” he checked, unable to see Enjolras’s expression and suddenly worried that he might misinterpret the sounds he was making.

“Fine” breathed Enjolras.

Spurred on by the initial success, he began to move his finger slowly in and out, working his way further and further in until up to the final knuckle. He was thrilled to feel Enjolras respond beneath him, shifting his hips. He crooked his finger, brushing something and Enjolras exhaled sharply. He froze.

“Do that again.” moaned Enjolras. Somewhat mystified he experimentally repeated the action. Enjolras bucked up against his hand, whimpering and shuddering. R smirked, withdrawing his finger completely, ignoring his boyfriend’s complaints. He leaned up to stroke his hair and whisper in his ear.

“Want to try two?” he said softy. Enjolras’s eyes were closed, his soft lashes resting against his cheeks which were flushed with pleasure.

“Please” he murmured.

He reapplied the lube and again pressed against the skin. With even more care, he slowly pushed the second finger inside, scissoring them to stretch Enjolras. He wondered what it felt like. He had fingered himself in the shower before, but doing it to someone else, to Enjolras, was very different. He wondered if Enjolras had ever fingered himself. He let out a shuddering breath as the image filled his mind.

“You ok?” he opened his eyes to see Enjolras craning to see why R had stopped.

“Yeah, sorry,” he huffed, focussing on the matter at hand. As if he could read his mind, Enjolras smirked at him, reaching back to clasp Aire’s free hand.

When Enjolras felt suitably stretched and pliant, no longer gasping at the stretch of those fingers, he gave his hand a squeeze.

“Still ok?” the boy nodded. “Try for three?” Another nod.

The groan he let out was one of pleasure. He pushed back onto Aire’s fingers, eyes scrunched tight, a frustrated sound emitting from the base of this throat.

“Oh fuck…” he drawled the harsh syllable from within his chest. R felt a stab of lust surge through him and his wiggled his fingers, increasing the stretch. He crooked his fingers, searching out that spot from before. He was instantly grateful that they had chosen a time when Enjolras’s parents were not in the house as he made no effort at all whatsoever to restrain his groan of gratification. It was more of a shout, an unearthly sound that reached all the way down to the bottom of R’s stomach. He repeated the action, enjoying its effects.

He was suddenly aware that Enjolras was saying something.

“Want you” he heard. “Want you so fucking much, just fucking, oh my god R please.” R blinked at the burbling, begging mess before him. He withdrew his fingers, which resulted in a frustrated growl.

He pressed a kiss between his boyfriend’s shoulder blades.

“Be easy,” he whispered. “Just wait a second.” His shaking hands fumbled at the packet, careful not to tear its contents. It took him just a few seconds to roll the condom on and apply a lot more lube before turning back to his boyfriend.

“Can you move?” he enquired. “This might be better if you’re on your knees.” Enjolras nodded, hauling himself up. R reached forward, brushing his cheek and kissing him forcefully.

“I love you”

“I love you too.” There was such fire, such passion in those blue eyes. It gave R courage.

Enjolras turned back around. Aire grasped his hips before gently yet firmly pushing forwards. He moved steadily, slowly, allowing the sensation of Enjolras tight around him to overwhelm him completely.

“How’d you feel?” the words sounded distant to him, slurred together as though this moment had rendered him drunk on sensation.

“Full.” Enjolras sounded wrecked, unable to form sentences. They paused like that for a moment, their jagged breathing the only sound to be heard in the room.

“Oh please move” Enjolras begged at last.

So he withdrew before thrusting back in, and Enjolras moved his hips to meet him. They stuttered at first, unsteady until finding their own comfortable rhythm. R was completely lost in the moment, the feel of Enjolras, the sound of Enjolras, the sight of Enjolras. He bent forward to lick up his spine, to taste the sweat, to smell his skin.

He tried to go slowly, gently, but Enjolras was begging, a litany of sounds and proclamations all urging R to continue, to give him more. His head was foggy as he felt his orgasm build in his gut. He reached forward, taking Enjolras in his hand, causing an instant rise in volume, an increase in urgency and a decrease in coherency.

“You’re so fucking amazing,” he breathed, finally finding his own words. “You’re so perfect.” Enjolras whimpered in response.

“Oh, fuck, please” is all the blonde could mange before coming with a grunt of Aire’s name. Enjolras’s arms gave out beneath him, dropping him unceremoniously onto the mattress. R continued to thrust three or four more times before coming with a shout of something that sounded like the latter half of “Enjolras”.

On opening his eyes, he carefully pulled out before allowing himself to drop down beside his boyfriend. He quickly tied off the condom and dropped it to the floor to be retrieved later. He had never been so tired, so sated. He shuffled onto his side, reaching forward to brush blonde curls out of his lover’s face. Soft, sleepy blue eyes met his.

“That was amazing” Enjolras’s voice was so quiet but filled with warmth.

“You’re ok?” R was suddenly full of concern, hoping and praying he hadn’t hurt him. He was reassured by the brilliant smile that met his.

“A little sore, but in a really good way.” He drawled like a contented cat, snuggling forward into R’s chest. They wrapped their arms around each other, both completely fucked out and entirely pleased with their success.

+

When Enjolras’s mother got home later that afternoon, the boys were in the living room taking advantage of the bigger TV and sharing a pizza. She let them be, pleased that Enjolras had already done some of his chores; she could hear the washing machine grumbling in the utility room and the bin bags had already been taken out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure I was going to include this chapter as it doesn't really add to the plot at all, other than to emphasise how serious things have become between these two. I was going to put it separately but as part of the wider series, but it sits here quite nicely has a happy interlude between February and late March.
> 
> I really hope it's ok because, as I discovered, it's rather difficult to write smut between two inexperienced people.
> 
> Just a quick warning; this is probably the last happy chapter.


	14. Some Consequence Yet Hanging in the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Enjolras was appalled. Of all the times he had seen R in the aftermath of one of these episodes he had never witnessed him like this. He had been calm, withdrawn, pale, collected, self-contained. He usually held everything inside him as though frightened to let anything escape in case his whole being unravelled. But now he clung to Enjolras, tears pouring down his cheeks, body wracked with sobs."
> 
> We reach a crossroads.

_11th March_

The form tutor tried to restore some order in the final minutes of registration before the last bell of the day. Enjolras and Aire were laughing together, eagerly awaiting the end of the day so they could go back to Enjolras’s house.

“Come on, people, I need your attention a bit longer please.” She rapped on the desk. The shuffling gradually receded and she held up some papers.

“Now that you have your mock results, these are your selection papers for your A Level choices next year.” She started to pass the forms out to the class. Enjolras had noticed that R had gone rather still and quiet next to him.

“You ok?” he muttered under his breath. R, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, jerked his head in a non-committal gesture.

“I need these back before the end of next week, or else you won’t be doing A Levels next year, am I clear?” There was a universal groan of agreement from the class. Enjolras shot another worried look at Aire, but the troubled look from before had gone, replaced with one of neutral concentration as the boy flicked through his bag, ensuring he had all his books that he needed for his homework.

+

Enjolras collapsed, gasping onto R’s shoulder. He slowly pulled out and reached for the box of tissues he now kept on the side of his bed. The sight of Aire stretched out beneath him took his breath away. They had decided to experiment, with Enjolras topping today; carefully exploring and stretching with his slender fingers. This time they chose to face each other in order to enjoy each other’s expressions as Enjolras thrust forcefully into his boyfriend, snapping his hips back and forth. As he came down from his orgasm, cleaning himself and R as best he could, he looked at his boyfriend’s peaceful face.

“How was that?” he cringed. He wasn’t expecting a mark out of ten, exactly, but even that morning he had still been glowing from their encounter on Saturday. He desperately wanted R to feel the same way.

“It was good,” came the sleepy, satisfied reply. “Different from before, but good.”

“I, er, prefer it the other way” he confided. R smiled, his eyes still closed.

“That’s ok, Apollo. That’s what this is all about, discovering what we like.” Enjolras nodded, content.

He was conscious of the time, the mess, the fact that it smelt very strongly of sex in his bedroom, but Aire seemed to be in no hurry to move. He shifted over to press a kiss to his shoulder.

“Not to rush you or anything…” R groaned, pulling the duvet up over his head. Enjolras chuckled, fondly. This was where Aire really belonged, wrapped in his sheets.

“Oh, so that’s how it is! I get it,” a rumble came from beneath the duvet cover. “Fuck me and kick me out of bed. How typical,” the mass of curls emerged with a wry smirk on his face. Enjolras pretended to be hurt, pulling back, but R followed him, wrapping strong arms around his thin shoulders, pulling him back in.

“Can you blame a poor mortal for wishing to stay?” he muttered into golden hair, pressing a kiss to his neck and making Enjolras shiver.

“Be that as it may,” he groaned, trying to break away from his boyfriend’s persuasive clutches, “My mother will be home in fifteen minutes and we both have homework.”

“You’re no fun sometimes,” the other boy grumbled with good humour, casting around for his clothes that had been so expertly stripped from him as soon as the bedroom door had closed.

+

“Is everything ok?” his mother had been watching him all through dinner, a strange expression on her face.

“Fine,” Enjolras tried to suppress a yawn, forcing in another mouthful of lasagne. He looked up and could tell she wasn’t convinced.

“You’re always so tired. I’m pleased you’re taking these exams so seriously and I know you want to do well, but that doesn’t mean you need to make yourself ill.”

“It’s fine, really” he repeated, feeling embarrassed. He had caught his mother watching him, shooting him worried looks, for the past few months ever since their conversation in the Christmas holidays. She pursed her lips, looking very much like she wanted to say something more but decided against it.

Enjolras was glad to escape that piercing gaze to the privacy of his bedroom. He knew his mother wasn’t a mind reader but sometimes he wondered if she knew more than she let on. She had often in the past had an uncanny way of riddling him out. “A mother’s intuition” she had called it. Surely she couldn’t tell what he and Aire had been up to just by looking at him. He fervently hoped not. He hoped, was fairly sure, that she would be accepting of him if and when he chose to come out, but he just wasn’t ready for that conversation right now.

+

He had only just turned his bedroom light off and snuggled down into his sheets, allowing R’s scent to envelope him, when his phone vibrated, the screen lighting up the room.

_R: need you_

At first Enjolras had smiled, mistaking the words for a gesture of affection. He had received a number of texts in recent weeks from R, ranging from a simple ‘x’ to quotes from favoured books and the occasional “I love you” last thing at night. He was about to tap out a reply when a second text came through.

_R: P &C _

He shot up, his heart stopping in his chest. _P &C_. He hadn’t had a text like that since well before Christmas. R’s father hadn’t laid a finger on him since he broke his hand. There had been a hope that the experience might have been something of a bench mark. R had said he had noticed a subtle change in the way his father behaved, keeping away from his son, in much the same way the son kept away from the father. So what had gone wrong?

He hastily typed out a reply to indicate that he would be at school early the next day. He stared at the screen for a number of minutes, waiting and hoping for a response but none came. He must have turned his phone back off.

+

_12th March_

Aire was on the bench by the Tennis courts. At the sight of Enjolras he stood up, somewhat unsteady on his feet, and began to walk towards the spinney, indicating that Enjolras should follow. Once there, he collapsed on his boyfriend’s shoulder and openly sobbed.

Enjolras was appalled. Of all the times he had seen R in the aftermath of one of these episodes he had never witnessed him like this. He had been calm, withdrawn, pale, collected, self-contained. He usually held everything inside him as though frightened to let anything escape in case his whole being unravelled. But now he clung to Enjolras, tears pouring down his cheeks, body wracked with sobs. Enjolras held him gently, his heart breaking until he thought he might cry as well. He said nothing, waiting for R to calm enough to tell him what the hell had happened. Eventually R pulled back, taking a deep lungful of air, bringing his hands up to his face to try to physically force the emotion back inside. He released a shaky breath, blinking his eyes to focus on the world around him.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last. Enjolras was dumbfounded. What could he possibly be apologising for?

Continuing to rub the tears from his face, he bent down to where his school bag had been cast aside, reaching inside and withdrawing a piece of folded paper.

“Do you have…?” he winced as he stood back up and Enjolras snapped back to himself, rummaging around to retrieve the coke and painkillers. They swapped, R knocking back the tablets and coke as though his life depended upon it, while Enjolras delicately unfolded the paper that had been passed to him.

R dropped down to the grass slowly, sitting cross-legged in the spring sunshine, elbows on knees, face in hands.

It was the A Level form. Enjolras read through it twice, his whole body chilling to his soul. It had R’s name at the top but it wasn’t his handwriting.

_Mathematics, Further Mathematics, Chemistry, Physics._

“I begged him,” Enjolras jumped at R’s broken voice. “I actually begged him to let me choose one. I thought he might let me keep French. I didn’t expect Art, or Latin, but I thought maybe French, perhaps even History…” he trailed off, shaking his head, trying to keep himself together. He wrapped his arms tightly round himself, rocking slowly back and forth. Enjolras dropped down beside him and folded him into a hug, carefully avoiding his boyfriend’s back.

“I don’t know how many blows,” he whispered into his neck. “I didn’t think he would stop. Sometimes I wish he wouldn’t. Sometimes I wish he’d just put me out of my fucking misery and be done with it.”

“No, my love” Enjolras shushed him, stroking his hands through those soft curls, rocking with him. “Don’t ever say that. Not ever.” They stayed like that for a while, with nothing but birdsong echoing round the spinney.

“I hate this,” he whimpered.

“I know.”

Oh he knew! He hated it too. Enjolras hated letting him return home every night. He hated the constant knot of worry that plagued him, hated knowing and yet simultaneously not knowing what his boyfriend was going home to. He desperately wanted R to leave, to run away, to be safe from beatings and violence. Aire was amazing and talented and loving and he deserved so much more from life, so much more it made Enjolras furious. All of this forced its way to the surface until a small word escaped his lips.

“Please.”

Enjolras froze, kicking himself for not being able to control his mouth. He didn’t want to push R away, not now, not when the boy needed him so much. He hadn’t dared broach the subject of R’s homelife since the row at Christmas and the last thing he wanted was another row like that. He held tightly onto Aire, refusing to let him go as the other boy struggled in his arms.

“It’s ok,” he breathed against Enjolras’s hair, his voice still shaken but soft and absent of any anger. Enjolras finally released him so the pair could look at each other.

“You’re right,” R looked intently at Enjolras, scrubbing a hand to remove any remaining tears from his cheeks. “You are so right, we really can’t go on like this. I thought I could, but I can’t. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t put you through this any more and I don’t think I can put me through it either.” He was rambling now, tugging at his curls. He sighed, a look of determination on his face.

“I’m going to talk to Mum. You’re right, we should leave. Go into a shelter or something.” Enjolras couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He let out a huge sigh of relief, taking Aire back into his arms.

“Thank you,” he breathed into his neck, his vision blurring with emotion.

+

That evening he went home early rather than going with Enjolras. He needed to speak to his mother while his father wasn’t there. She was surprised to open the door to him, especially after the events the night before. She assumed he would want to be out of the house for as long as possible.

He followed her to the kitchen, putting the kettle on to boil and setting out two cups. He thought briefly of Enjolras and his green tea with honey and smiled to himself.

“Mum,” he settled a mug down on the table in front of her, before sitting down in the opposite chair. She looked up at him sadly.

“My son,” she reached for his hand which he took, giving it a squeeze. “I wondered if you would come back. I thought this time you might leave.”

“I always come back,” he said plainly, sipping his tea. She crooked a smile at him, a smile he recognised as his own.

“You have your life, my darling. I made my choice a long time ago. You shouldn’t stay for me.”

“Surely this isn’t what you signed up for?” he said, furrowing his brow in disbelief. She shook her head to one side, a sad thoughtful smile on her face, but she said nothing.

“I want us to leave. Get away from here, from him, for good.” He was surprised when she nodded.

“I’m sorry. I wanted so much more for you. I should have protected you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, desperately. “After my exams are finished, I’m going to leave and I want you to come with me.” His heart was hammering in his chest. He was terrified that she would refuse. Somewhere in the back of his head he realised this was how Enjolras probably felt most of the time. He determined to apologise profusely to him when he saw him the next day.

“Yes,” she said finally. “Once your exams are done, we will go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You hear that? Yeah, that clap of thunder? Yup, a storm is brewing.  
> I've already started the next bit. 
> 
> The title is taken from Romeo and Juliet:  
> "Some consequence yet hanging in the stars/ Shall bitterly begin his fearful date/ With this night's revels"   
> Act 1, scene 4


	15. Those Who Falter, Those Who Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Enjolras and R were both preparing in their own ways. R was preparing for freedom. Enjolras was preparing for loss."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, people. Trigger warning for EVERYTHING.  
> Blood, violence, domestic violence, suicide, death, murder.

The Easter holidays were fast approaching. They would be the last holidays before study leave commenced in May. Most of the lessons were taken up running through test papers, with teachers guiding their students towards their exams and lecturing them on the importance of reading the questions carefully.

Enjolras and R were both preparing in their own ways. R was preparing for freedom. Enjolras was preparing for loss. He knew if Aire went into a shelter with his mother they would be parted for an indeterminate amount of time. Although he was relieved that he would finally be safe, he allowed a very small part of him to mourn.

“I’ll still be able to text you,” R promised. “Hell, I’ll send you postcards if you give me your address.” His smiles were reassuring but did not quite reach his eyes as they shared the same pain. Enjolras tried to shake himself out of it. They would find a way.

On the last day of the spring term, all the teachers wished them a good Easter, advising them to rest and have fun as well as study during the two week holiday.

+

_7th April_

It was a really beautiful spring day. When R knocked on Enjolras’s door that morning the pair decided to go out into town for a bit to make the most of the warm sunshine. As they wondered past the shops, chatting lazily, Enjolras suddenly hit upon the idea of getting one of those disposable cameras. They could take lots of photos which would be small enough for R to take with him when he left. They could even get two sets, so Enjolras would also have something. R thought it was a brilliant idea. They made their purchase and headed for the park.

The good weather and expanse of green filled the boys with warmth. The grass had not long been cut, filling the air with its glorious scent. R scrambled up a tree, swinging from a branch upside down. Enjolras laughed to see him, capturing the moment on film before struggling up the tree to join him. They held the camera out at arm’s length to take a photo of the pair of them. At the last second, before Enjolras pressed the shutter, R turned his head suddenly to kiss his cheek. They almost fell out of the tree, giggling ridiculously. They jumped down and ran down the field towards the river.

Aire felt alive, felt his very life humming through his veins. He was winning the race, casting a look over his shoulder to the vibrant boy chasing him, calling after him joyfully. They collapsed side by side on the river bank. R took the camera and held it up above them to capture them lying together on the grass. He then rolled sideways to catch his boyfriend in a kiss, framing his face with his other hand, while he took another photo.

“I love you,” Enjolras whispered, enjoying the sparkle of the eyes that looked back at him. R made a low growl in his throat, a different gleam appearing along with a smirk. Enjolras’s fingers traced along the other boy’s jawline. R moved suddenly, catching the fingers in his mouth and sucking them gently, staring intently into blue eyes. Enjolras huffed affectionately, pulling away, struggling to get to his feet and holding a hand out to the boy on the grass.

“Let’s go home, shall we?” he quirked his eyebrow, his eyes full of promise. R flashed a grin, allowing Enjolras to haul him to his feet.

As soon as the front door was closed, they were upon each other, pulling and pushing, grabbing at coats and t-shirts, fingers moved to release buttons while lips and teeth clashed hungrily as they struggled up the stairs to Enjolras’s room. R pushed impatiently against the bedroom wall, nipping at the soft flesh of his neck, pausing only to relieve the blonde of his t-shirt. He ran his hands through Enjolras’s hair, pinning him to the wall with his hips. Enjolras ran his nails down the other boy’s back, enjoying the groan it produced.

“Oh, how I want you,” R growled, allowing his own t-shirt to be removed. Enjolras laughed between kisses as R worked to remove his jeans. He dropped to his knees, his hands holding Enjolras’s hips in place against the wall. He mouthed at Enjolras through his boxers, causing the other boy to groan.

“Stop fucking teasing” he moaned. Aire grinned, wickedly. He loved how vocal Enjolras could be, how his usual careful and controlled language steadily deteriorated into a string of oaths and vulgarity.

He shoved the boxers out of the way before running his fingers along the shaft, enjoying how Enjolras seemed to ripple with pleasure. He replaced his fingers with his tongue, licking along the length before taking the head into his mouth. He flicked at the slit with his tongue, knowing how it affected his boyfriend. He felt Enjolras’s legs trembling where he stood.

A little more practised than his first time, he was able to take most of Enjolras into his mouth, gently relaxing his throat as much as he could, hollowing his cheeks and sucking. He sensed Enjolras struggling, his hips jerking slightly as he wished to fuck into the boy’s mouth. Slender fingers ran through his brown curls, tugging hard. R hummed with pleasure, looking up through his curls at the wrecked expression on Enjolras’s face. He paused in his ministrations, looking up in reverence at this wonderful person before him.

Enjolras pulled him up off his knees, smiling into a kiss. They shuffled each other towards the bed, shedding clothes as they went before tumbling onto the sheets. R pinned him down, reaching for the lube and slicking his fingers. He stared down at this gorgeous vision, the flushed cheeks, the blown pupils. Enjolras hitched his breath in anticipation as Aire started to prep him.

They moved together with an urgency, a need. Aire loved this. Loved the movement, the sounds and the way Enjolras responded to his touch. From the first gasp as he entered, pushing forward slowly and carefully, to the point where they both lost control, thrusting and swearing, stroking Enjolras to his climax, until he came with a cry, constricting around R and so pushing him over the edge as well.

They lay there together, steadying their heartbeats and getting their breath back.

“I’ll miss this.” It was Aire who broke the silence, staring at the ceiling. Enjolras propped himself up on his elbow, leaning forward to brush his hand over R’s cheek.

“It’s for the best,” he said, managing to keep his voice steady even though his chest hurt at the thought of it. “Best for you, and your mother.”

Aire took his hand to kiss it softly.

“Would you like to meet her?” R looked at him expectantly. Enjolras considered for a moment. He’d seen R’s parents from a distance at the Art GCSE soiree, but on that occasion he had mostly been directing his attentions (and his anger) at the father. He didn’t really remember that much of the mother.

“Yes, I’d like that.”

+

He was surprised how close R’s house was. It took slightly less than twenty minutes of walking before they stopped outside an inoffensive semi-detached house with a neat front garden. There was a shiny brass seven on the front door. R rang the bell, blushing awkwardly. He didn’t have to explain about the absence of a key.

After a short wait, a pleasant-looking woman with dark curly hair opened the door. Her eyes widened slightly seeing more than one person on the doorstep.

“Mum,” R stepped forward, reaching for her hand. He smiled warmly, gesturing towards his blonde companion. “This is Enjolras.”

+

They sat at the kitchen table. The house was quiet, footsteps echoing on the wooden floorboards. Aire’s mother was a small, slight woman with a glowing, pale complexion similar to her son. She had sad, old eyes that had seen too much.

“Grantaire has told me all about you, of course,” she squeezed Enjolras’s hand warmly. Enjolras flushed, unable to stop his eyes flying to R, looking for his wince at the sound of his name. The only outward sign of distress was the quick closure of his eyes. Evidently he was used to containing himself and his reactions to all things when at home.

He had noticed as soon as they had set foot inside the house how still R had become, how he held himself unnaturally straight, almost compressing how much space his body took up.

Aire’s mother was nice. She was reserved, her eyes darting in a similar way to how R behaved when under stress, but there was a natural peace and warmth that you couldn’t help but pick up on.

Enjolras allowed his attention to wonder around the kitchen. It was plain and grey and freakishly clean, verging on the sterile. When they had finished their drinks, R swept his cup away and it was washed, dried and back in the cupboard in less than a minute.

“Why don’t you show him your bedroom?” she suggested kindly. R shot a nervous look at Enjolras.

“Would you like to see my room?” he ventured, suddenly shy. Enjolras nodded, gave a last smile at R’s mother and followed him out into the hall and up the stairs.

“We’ve already started packing,” he whispered as they reached the landing. “Mum went and bought some suitcases at the weekend so we can take a few things with us.”

Aire’s bedroom door was open, of course, and they trooped in. R stood in the middle of the carpet, looking a little unsure, gesturing his hands at nothing.

“This is it,” he said.

It was about as far away from Aire’s personality as you could get. Enjolras had always imagined R’s room to be a crowded space, filled with books and drawings, surfaces littered with paper, pencils, paints, chalks and everything else that went with creativity. He thought there would be posters and photos lining the walls, finished school projects on shelves and a certain amount of organised chaos. This room looked like nobody lived here. The bed was set against the wall by the window. There was a built in wardrobe with old louver doors. There were no shelves at all, only a desk on the wall nearest the door but even that had nothing on it. There were no signs of life, nothing that said a teenage boy inhabited this space. It was a sad little room.

Enjolras went over to the window to see the view of the street below. Aire joined him.

“Not what you were expecting,” he said softly. It wasn’t really a question and Enjolras gave a small hum in reply, staring out at the sky. The sun had dipped behind a few grey clouds, plunging the world into a soft semi-darkness. Enjolras shivered, turning back to R to press a soft, tender kiss of reassurance on his lips.

A movement in the drive below distracted them, along with the sound of squealing tyres. R froze, his eyes widening as he stepped away from his boyfriend to look down.

“Oh my god” he gasped.

The front door suddenly banged and the whole house shook. At once there was a terrible commotion from downstairs, shouting and swearing. R had gone white as a sheet. He reached for Enjolras, gripping his arm so tight it hurt.

“Your father?” Enjolras heard the horror and fear in his own voice, his stomach plummeting at the stiff nod of R’s head.

Enjolras went cold. He shouldn’t be here. His presence would get R into so much trouble and it already sounded like his father was angry enough. The riot going on downstairs was truly terrifying. He suddenly had a glimpse into R’s world, how horrible it must be to witness this day after day, to feel this frightened all the time while you shared the same roof with a violent hurricane of a man.

“Why is he here?” R hadn’t moved, his eyes fixed on the bedroom door which wasn’t quite shut, allowing the sounds to filter through up the stairs. Enjolras checked the time; it wasn’t even three o’clock. The man wasn’t due back home for another three and a half hours.

At the sound of smashing glass and a scream, Enjolras reached for his phone.

“I’m calling the police,” he said, swiftly dialling 999. The operator’s voice was calm and business like.

“Police, please.” Enjolras pulled on R’s sleeve to get his attention. “What’s your address?”

“7 Maycroft Close” he whispered, eyes still on the door. Enjolras repeated it to the operator but suddenly stopped as a terrible scream ripped through the building. It came to a sudden halt with a deafening crash and the whole house seemed to shake underneath them.

R seemed to suddenly wake up, rounding on Enjolras and grabbing him by the shoulders, startling him.

“The wardrobe!” he hissed, eyes focussed with fear, pushing Enjolras backwards. He stumbled, trying to stay up right.

“Please,” R begged, pushing him inside, “whatever you hear just stay here, don’t make a sound.” The last thing Enjolras saw were those eyes staring at him, begging him to be safe before the wardrobe door was closed.

+

Enjolras was not a coward. He was also not a fool. Horrible things were happening in this house, things he didn’t understand. He didn’t understand why Aire’s father was home so early from work. He didn’t understand what had happened to make him so angry. He didn’t understand what had happened downstairs other than it was evidently violent.

The splitting sound of the wood of the bedroom door being thrown open caused a chill right down his spine and his hand rose to his mouth involuntarily. His heart sounded impossible loud in his own ears. Through the gaps in the louver doors he could make out the shape of a shadow.

“Dad?” Enjolras had never heard R’s voice sound like that before. It was a monotone, trying to be neutral but not quite able to disguise the fear within.

“She’s dead, your mother,” the words were strange, twisted, not so much said as spat. The voice was evil, haunting, making him cold to his very soul. The air seemed to freeze inside his lungs.

Then there were other sounds; thuds and thumps and bangs, the sounds of a struggle. There were muffled cries and a strangled groan and finally a thud. Enjolras bit down hard on his hand to keep his screams inside. Then there was a soft clunk as the bedroom door closed.

Dragging in a lungful of air, Enjolras pushed open the wardrobe door. His eyes flicked to the door of the bedroom, fearing it may fly open again at any moment. A sound drew his attention across the room.

Aire was lying on his side, curled into a ball facing away from him. Enjolras could see his shoulders were shuddering violently. He quickly stepped across the bedroom floor, dropping to his knees and rolling the boy gently towards him. R was staring up at him, a confused and frightened look on his face. He raised a shaking hand towards Enjolras which is when he noticed the blood.

“Oh no,” his throat managed to articulate the words in a quiet, strangled moan. He took his boyfriend’s hand and pressed a quick kiss to his knuckles.

He struggled to pull off his own jumper in order to apply a compression but he couldn’t see the wound. Blood was already pooling dark on the carpet.

“Show me where it hurts, love” he whispered, eyes flicking between his boyfriend and the door. R’s hand moved unsteadily over the left side of his abdomen, just below his lung. Enjolras folded the jumper and placed it where he had been shown, holding it in place to try and stop the bleeding. With his other hand, he picked up his phone from where he had dropped it and redialled.

“Please, I need police and ambulance. My boyfriend’s been stabbed.” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, only just realising the tears that were pouring, unwelcome, down his cheeks. He began to give R’s address when, with a plaintive beep, his phone lost power and disconnected the call. He chucked it aside, swearing.

R’s breathing was getting worse. Hideous, wet, ragged sounds were coming from his throat. Enjolras picked up his head and laid it on his lap.

“Help’s on its way, R, just hang on.” He whispered, keeping his eyes on the scared boy in his arms, trying not to look at the rest of him. The brown eyes looked up at him, blinking as though trying to focus.

“Stay with me, come on,” he took the boy’s hand, giving it a squeeze.

His head shot up at a strange noise on the landing. It was a rushing, snapping sort of noise. He cast his eyes around the bedroom looking for a plausible weapon. He bent down to kiss Aire’s forehead.

“I’ll be right back, love” he whispered, before crawling over to the wardrobe to see if there was anything useful in there. He then remembered R’s phone was somewhere under a loose floorboard. He could use it to call for help in case they hadn’t managed to get the message from his first call. His fingers scrabbled in the corners, trying to get purchase on the carpet. He finally succeeded, pulling the phone from its hiding place and turning back into a horribly quiet room. R was completely still.

“Oh, fuck, no!”

He raced to the boy’s side, pulling him over onto his back. Aire’s eyes were closed. He bent forward, trying to hear any breaths but all he could hear was his own thudding heart and rushing blood. He quickly scooted round, his head filling with the memories of the first aid classes he took what felt like a lifetime ago, back in Devon before he had even met Aire. He carefully positioned his hands, took a deep breath and then began to pump.

One… Two… Three… Four…

“Come on you bastard! Breathe!”  
  
Five… Six… Seven… Eight…  
  
“Wake up!”  
  
Nine… Ten… Eleven… Twelve...  
  
“Don’t you, don’t you fucking dare…”  
  
Thirteen… Fourteen… Fifteen… Sixteen…  
  
“Don’t you die!”  
  
Panic began to set in. He was half way through the first set of compressions and already his arms felt like jelly. How the hell was he supposed to keep this up?  
  
“Come on, R! Wake the fuck up!”  
  
Seventeen… Eighteen… Nineteen… Twenty  
  
“I don’t permit it, you hear?”  
  
Twenty-one… Twenty-two… Twenty-three… Twenty-four…  
  
“Please”  
  
Twenty-five… Twenty-six… Twenty-seven… Twenty- eight  
  
“Two more”  
  
Twenty-nine… Thirty  
  
Out of breath himself, with sweat running down his forehead and blood everywhere, he leaned down to listen for a breath. In the distance, Enjolras could hear sirens.

+

The police car that pulled up outside Number Seven had two officers in it who had been advised of a disturbance at the property but that the call had ended before full details had been taken. As it was the school holidays and the voice of the caller had been a young man, there was a strong likelihood of it being a hoax.

As they stepped out of their car, placing their hats on their heads, they noticed a few curtains twitching in the street. The house seemed quiet enough.

The door of Number Nine opened and a middle aged woman stepped out with a worried look on her face.

“Did you ring us madam?” enquired the junior officer.

“No, but I’m glad you’re here,” she said, wringing her hands. “There’s been dreadful noises, just now. Screaming and shouting and carrying on.”

The senior officer was by now knocking on the front door but getting no response. The junior officer thanked the neighbour and went to join her. They peered through the letterbox.

“Best call for back up,” said the senior officer darkly. Through the limited view afforded them, they could see a trail of blood across the hall carpet. She then tried to squint through the kitchen window. Her whole posture suddenly changed and she indicated that her partner should join her. Once the junior office had seen the same thing through the window, they both began to shoulder and kick the door in an attempt to break it down. Through the window they could see a pair of legs protruding from behind the kitchen unit.

The distant sirens told them help was on its way.

+

When the police eventually broke into the house, the first thing they found was the father, hanging at the end of a rope from the landing banisters, rotating slowly in the slight breeze.

In the kitchen, more officers found the mother who, despite a number of stab wounds and what was obviously a serious head injury, was somehow still breathing. They called forward the paramedics while other officers ran upstairs to check the rest of the house.

In one of the upstairs bedrooms they found a young blonde boy anxiously carrying out CPR on what they took to be the son of the couple downstairs. One of the officers took over from the exhausted teenager, who immediately collapsed on the spot in shock.

A team of paramedics soon joined them. The officers carried the blonde boy out to another room in order to give the paramedics more space in which to work. A First Response paramedic gave the other boy a quick once over to check that none of the blood belonged to him.

It seemed that, apart from a severe case of shock, he was otherwise unharmed. He was beginning to come round from his initial swoon so, in order to keep him safe and prevent him from becoming combative, the paramedic gave him a sedative to knock him out. He was then strapped to a board and carried safely from the building to a waiting ambulance.

A police officer in the ambulance searched his pockets and found the boy’s wallet. She sent a message to control so that someone could liaise with the boy’s parents. She didn’t envy them that job one little bit. There were few things worse than knocking on a parent’s door to tell them their son or daughter had been involved in an incident like this.

She looked down at the sedated teenager, wondering what on earth had happened in that house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really, truly sorry.


	16. Left Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please accept this chapter as a humble apology.
> 
> trigger warnings for hospitals, panic attacks and talk of previous horrible events.

The first thing he was really aware of was how bright the lights were, far too bright for him to cope with, even with his eyes closed. Then he was aware of a vague buzzing as his brain reconnected his ears so that the sounds of his surroundings began to filter through.

“Enjolras?”

It wasn’t the voice he wanted to hear, but under the circumstances it would do.

“Mum,” he croaked, throat surprisingly dry and eyes still tightly clamped shut.

He was in hospital. How had he ended up in hospital? He remembered the shouting, R on the floor, the blood…

“Calm down, darling, you’re all right, you’re safe.”

Her words were meaningless. Nothing would ever be all right ever again. He sat up in bed, fighting with the sheets, while various people, doctors and nurses he assumed, rushed in to restrain him.

“You need to calm down,” lots of voices were saying but he couldn’t really tell who was speaking and who wasn’t. Didn’t they understand? R needed him. He wasn’t breathing. He might be dead already, he had to get out of here.

He was dimly aware of a sharp jab of pain and everything began to slow down again, swirling back into the dark.

+

“… quite a common reaction, really.”

They were talking about him again. It was a calm, authoritative tone, probably a doctor.

“I hate to disagree with you, madam, but there is nothing common to me about this situation at all.” That was his father, definitely. His voice was strange but it was definitely him.

He opened one eye experimentally. He felt a soft squeeze to his hand. It was his mother, still by his side.

“How do you feel?” she said softly.

“Like most of me doesn’t work” he slurred, trying to get his tongue to move.

“You had some sort of panic attack. They had to sedate you.” He saw how red her eyes were, how old and tired she suddenly seemed under the unforgiving glare of the strip lighting. They stared at each other for a moment.

“What happened to Aire?”

He didn’t want to know, not really. But he needed to hear it. Needed to hear someone say it. Just to break him once, then perhaps he wouldn’t have any farther to fall and he might be able to start piecing himself back together.

“I don’t know, they won’t tell me,” she said slowly. “But last I heard he was still alive. He came in not long after you.”

Alive. That was better than he’d hoped for. Alive and at the hospital. He let that information sink in.

“They want to keep you here for a few more hours, perhaps over night. They want to see how you respond to the sedative.” She squeezed his hand again. He closed his eyes, sighing.

“Did you want us to bring you anything from home? You’ll need a change of clothes.” Enjolras suddenly realised that he was in one of those hideous hospital gowns. He looked at it in confusion, wondering where his other clothes had gone.

“They had to cut them off you, sweetheart.” she answered his unasked question. “You were pretty out of it when you arrived.”

It was a lot to take in. He reached up to tug his hair, trying to make sense of everything around him but it was no use. Nothing in this horrible world made any sense at all.

+

Later that evening, after his parents had left, he was moved to a children’s ward full of kids with cancer, broken legs and heart problems. He felt like the worst kind of fraud.

A passing nurse caught the distressed look on his face and came over to investigate.

“R isn’t here,” he muttered distractedly.

“I’m sorry?” she had a kindly face which was now crossed with confusion. He looked at her earnestly.

“Grantaire, the boy who was stabbed,” he gulped at his own words. “He’s not here, but he’s the same age as me. If he’s not here he must be dead.” His words trailed off as he started to breathe heavily, the start of another panic attack. Glancing at his chart, the nurse pulled the curtains round his bed and tried to get him to calm down.

“I’ll find out for you, I promise. I’ll find out. Just take a slow breath, there we go.” Her voice was soothing and he closed his eyes, trying to focus on that sound to bring his breathing back to normal.

“There’s lot of places he could be. Just you lie here, nice and calm now, and I’ll go find out.”

She was as good as her word. Some time later, when the rest of the ward was dark, she poked her head round the curtains. She whispered conspiratorially in his ear.

“Your friend is in Intensive Care. He’s had some surgery today and he has a fair few more to look forward to, I’ll be bound. But our surgeons are excellent. God willing, he’ll be around for plenty years yet.”

Enjolras sank down into his pillows, allowing the relief to course through him.

_God willing._

He wondered what the agnostic nihilist would have to say about that.

+

His parents returned the next morning with a bag of clean clothes. He shuffled into his jeans and a t-shirt and waited to be discharged.

The doctor said he was showing symptoms of Acute Stress Disorder which would likely last for another couple of days but hopefully wouldn’t be permanent.

“Of course if you have any concerns, you should take him straight to the GP” she smiled at his parents. Enjolras hated the way they all talked over him like he wasn’t there, like he couldn’t hear them all talking about him.

Waiting at reception while his parents signed some paperwork, he couldn’t help but notice the way all the staff looked at him as he was discharged, how their eyes followed him as he stumbled out into the car park towards the car. His father opened the back door for him to jump in.

He leant his head against the glass of the window, watching everything whirl past him. Everything seemed too normal, like nobody had noticed how the world had been turned upside down in the last twenty-four hours. Old ladies stood at bus stops, small children ran around their playgrounds while mums and dads sat and chatted on the benches. The tears came, uninvited as usual, and they ran down his cheeks unchecked.

+

His father pulled into the driveway of their house and turned the engine off. Everything became very quiet.

“I just wanted to say, before we go in, that your mother and I are very proud of you.” The words were stiff, unrehearsed and awkward with genuine sentiment. “You saved that young man’s life.”

His father coughed, fiddling with his car keys. Enjolras didn’t have enough air in his lungs to reply.

+

The first night he stayed in his room. He was appalled to discover that his mother had changed his sheets so instead of a familiar comforting scent, he was left with unfriendly fabric conditioner.

The second day he tried to distract himself by watching TV, reading books, even opening his text books. He gave it up as a bad job after half an hour as everything reminded him of Aire.

In the afternoon he suddenly remembered the trip to the park and the camera. He searched his room and his bag, trying to remember where he had it last. He had shoved it into his pocket but it hadn’t been returned to him with the rest of his belongings when he was discharged from hospital. He assumed that it must have fallen out of his pocket at Aire’s house and gave it up as one more thing he lost that day.

On the third day he wondered into the kitchen, interrupting his parents who were obviously discussing him as they ceased their hushed mutterings as soon as he entered. He raised an eyebrow at them suspiciously.

“What is it?” His father looked like he was about to say something but his mother got there first.

“Nothing, darling. Did you want some lunch?” He narrows his eyes at the pair of them.

“Well it’s obviously something,” he ignored her question, moving round the kitchen table and digging his hands in his pockets.

“Really, it’s nothing” she insisted but he rolled his eyes.

“If it really is nothing then why do I get the feeling I’m in some sort of trouble?”

He was fed up of this. It wasn’t bad enough that his whole life had come crashing down round his ears, now his parents were tip-toeing round him, one overly attentive, the other verging on the cold and distant. He got the distinct impression from his father that he was in disgrace for something. It had crossed his mind that, despite the assurances that they were very proud of him for his actions, his father was less than impressed that he had been involved in recent events in the first place.

“I’m not sure now is the time…”

“There’s never going to be a good time, Marjorie,” his father finally got a word in edgeways. He pulled out the chair opposite his son and sat down, fixing him with a particular stare that Enjolras had trouble translating.

“When your mother and I collected some things for you to take to the hospital, certain… items were discovered in your bedside drawer.”

_Oh._

He should have listened to his mother because now was definitely not the time, not for this conversation. He opened his mouth but found he had absolutely nothing to say, nothing good or nothing that he thought his father wanted to hear, so he shut it again.

A number of emotions washed over him. The first was fear of discovery. The next was a vague sense of panic at what else his parents might have found in his room. The final one was confusion. His father’s tone was serious but he didn’t seem to be that angry. In fact, he couldn’t see any anger in his face at all, just a furrowed brow. It was the same expression he wore when discussing Enjolras’s school report.

He decided that silence was the best form of defence and that it would be best to just hear out what his father wanted to say.

When Enjolras kept his peace, his father sighed, an edge of frustration and disappointment creeping into his expression.

“We’re very worried about you. Regardless of this recent business, I feel like I hardly know you these days. You’re only sixteen.” He paused to see what effect, if any, his words were having on the young man in front of him. Enjolras stared at him with fixed blue eyes, his face unreadable.

“Of course, I’m pleased that you’re taking precautions because heaven knows I’m not ready to be a grandfather yet, but you haven’t even introduced this girl to us…”

Something inside Enjolras snapped. Before he knew what he was doing he was up, out of his chair. Throwing his arms up in frustration, he gave out a shout.

“Oh for FUCK’S SAKE, Dad, I’m GAY!”

A sudden silence settled over the kitchen.

He spared a moment to absorb his father’s shocked expression before storming from the kitchen and running up the stairs to slam his bedroom door. Immediately he began to pace, tugging his hair which didn’t help because then he thought of R and his curls and his lips and his scent and how he had no idea if he was even still alive, never mind what that nurse had said.

He thought how he had nowhere to go, no safe place to run to, no arms to hold him and tell him it would be ok. He felt his chest begin to tighten as his pulse started to race. He had to get out. He had to get out now. He’d just pack a bag and get on a train and go somewhere and then they’d never have to see him again if they didn’t want to.

He didn’t hear his door open, or his mother call his name. Lost in the mist of another ASD attack, he was barely aware of her hands on his shoulders, of her arms as they led him to the bathroom where she held his hair while he was sick. As he returned to himself, he tried to mumble apologies as she mopped his brow with a flannel. She shushed him and helped him back to his room.

+

“Your father has popped out for a bit. He needs to sort out a few things at work.”

Enjolras accepted the mug of green tea that was placed in front of him. She slid the jar of honey across the table and he stirred in a spoonful, watching the liquid swirl round and round.

“I’m sorry I swore,” he muttered to his mug. She pursed her lips slightly.

“Yes, well it wasn’t exactly the way I thought the news would be delivered but it certainly got the job done.” She said lightly. He risked a glance to her face. A small smile played about her lips but her eyes were filled with worry and compassion.

“You knew?” he asked, shaking his head slightly in disbelief.

“Sweetheart, I’m not blind and deaf like your father. I’ve been waiting for you to tell me for a while now. You’re not as subtle as you think you are.” She took a long sip of her tea, thinking of what to say next.

“Are you angry?” he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to this one. His parents knowing was one thing. Their acceptance was quite another.

“Of course we’re not. Why on earth would we be angry about who you are?” She put her mug down and leaned forward, eyes holding his gaze purposefully.

“You need to give your father a bit of time. Finding out your sixteen-year-old son is sexually active is a bit of a shock, irrespective of who their partner is.” They pondered in comfortable silence together for a bit, finishing their tea.

“Do you think I’ll have to tell the police?” his question was asked very quietly. He wasn’t sure he was ready for random strangers to know just yet, especially under the current circumstances. His mother considered the question, her head on one side.

“All you can do is tell the truth. If they don’t ask the question you don’t have to answer.” He let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. “All the same, sweetheart, don’t lie if they do ask.” He nodded his agreement.

+

Reliving the events of the 7th April was something of an ordeal. It took three days for them to fully take his statement. The two plain clothes police officers sat in his living room, one asking questions while the other wrote down the details. At night he went to bed with a terrible headache, his head filled with the images of that day, of the sound of that voice, of the sight of R on the floor.

He was wrenched from sleep in the night shouting. His mother came in to hold him while he sobbed. He woke the next day completely washed out, not at all ready to start the whole process again.

The worst thing was his mother’s tears as he told his story. They wanted to know it all. How he had found out that Aire was being abused, how many times he had patched him up at school, how many times he had received a text asking for help.

The full events of the soiree at Christmas came out at which point his mother had to leave the room and he could hear her quietly crying in the kitchen. Later that evening she wrapped him in a tight hug.

“You were trying to tell me,” she whispered in his ear. “You were trying to tell me at Christmas.” Her voice was fogged with grief.

On the last day, both his parents sat on the sofa holding hands. Neither of them had pressed Enjolras to tell them what had taken place in the house that day. This would be the first time they heard what had happened.

He wasn’t sure how he managed to get through all of it without stopping. Occasionally the detective would interject with a well placed question but otherwise he was left to tell his story uninterrupted.

He told them about how Aire had told him they were planning to leave, had made to plans to go into a shelter once he had finished his exams. He told them how he had met his mother that day, but kept to himself the softness of her smile, the gentleness of her touch. He told them how R had taken him upstairs to show him his room at his mother’s suggestion, but left out how sparse, barren and desolate it had been. He told them about the noise, the vibrations and the fury of R’s father’ return, but couldn’t bring himself to admit the fear in Aire’s eyes as he shoved Enjolras into the wardrobe, how those eyes continued to haunt him.

When it was over, he stayed sitting in the living room feeling completely drained and empty while his parents showed the officers to the door. He could hear them talking in the hallway.

“This will all go into the coroner’s report for the inquest,” said the one who had been taking notes. Enjolras knew it was rude to listen, but if they were going to have secret and important conversations next to half-open doors then it was their own fault, really.

“Will he be called to give evidence?” he recognised his father’s anxious voice.

“It’s unlikely,” the officer assured them. Then his mother asked a question.

“What happened to Grantaire? No one has told us anything.” Enjolras leaned forward. He desperately wanted to know the answer to this question.

“So far it is looking good. I understand arrangements are being made to transfer him to a hospital in Yorkshire. His family are there.” There were a few more murmurs of “thank you, officer” before the door shut. Enjolras slipped out of the French doors and went to sit by himself at the bottom of the garden to be alone and think for a while.

+

It was Sunday night and Enjolras was done with going steadily mad in his bedroom. He strode purposefully into the living room.

“Am I going to school tomorrow?”

Oh yes, because the rest of the world was definitely continuing to spin beneath his feet, regardless of how much and how badly things had changed. His parents looked at him in surprise.

“Do you want to?” his father looked baffled, as though trying to understand what was going on inside his son’s head. Enjolras shrugged. What else could he do?

The next day found him marching to school as though the last two weeks had never happened.

He knew it was a bad idea from the moment he walked into the form room. Not only did all conversation cease as every head turned to stare, but the first thing he saw was the pair of empty chairs over at the back by the window. Setting his jaw, head held high, he quickly made his way to his seat, not meeting the eyes of anyone.

Registration was awkward. The form tutor stumbled over Grantaire’s name, causing an intake of breath from everyone in the class. Enjolras was busy building walls in his mind, defences against everything around him in the hope that he might make it to the end of the day.

Unfortunately the fates were in a brutal mood that day. A special assembly was called and everyone filed into the school hall for an address by the Head Teacher. After the shuffling of chairs had subsided, he stood at the lecturn, looking out at the sea of faces below him.

“As you are all, by now, aware, a terrible event occurred to one of our own during the holidays.” He paused impressively. Enjolras squirmed in his seat, biting down on his lip and fiddling with his tie.

“Grantaire was a dedicated pupil and we, the deputy head teacher, his form tutor and I, were all deeply shocked to hear the sad news.”

A ringing noise started up in Enjolras’s ears. Anger began to bubble inside his chest. He looked around at the people in the room. None of them had a clue. Most of them had never uttered a single friendly word to Aire in all his time here. He spotted James a few rows ahead who, back in December, had referred to him as an ‘oddball’. Yet now, four months later, the boy looked sad and sombre as though it was his best friend lying in hospital. The Head Teacher was talking again.

“I know that many of you will be distressed, and if you…” he broke off suddenly at the sound of a scraping chair. Enjolras was on his feet.

“None of you have ANY IDEA what the hell you are talking about.” He announced at the top of his lungs, fury at the injustice of this ridiculous display over-powering him. His eyes blazing, he stormed from the hall, down the corridor and into the school office.

One of the secretaries looked up at his sudden appearance.

“Excuse me,” he said softly but with a dangerous undertone to his voice. “I believe coming back to school today was a terrible mistake. I was wondering if you could do me a favour and call my parents?”

+

He didn’t go back to school for the rest of that term. Arrangements were made for work and test papers to be sent home as final preparations before the GCSE exams at the end of May.

He sat his exams, despite assurances from parents and teachers that he could defer if he so wished, that the exam boards would be understanding given the circumstances. But that was not what Enjolras wanted. He was determined to finish this school year. Ok, so his future with Aire was looking increasingly unlikely. He would revert to the original plan; pass exams, do A Levels, go to University, get a life. A sound plan, he told himself.

+

In the second week after exams finished, he was lying on the sofa at home, bored out of his brains, when he heard the clang of the letterbox. He was surprised to find a letter addressed to him in neat, cursive hand writing. His heart rate rose slightly at the Sheffield post mark.

 

 

_Dear Enjolras,_

_I wish to express to you, on behalf of my husband and I, our most sincere and deepest gratitude for everything that you did for our grandson. Without your swift and selfless actions we are sure he would not be with us today._

_Grantaire is making good progress up here in Sheffield and we hope he will be discharged from hospital in due course. Unfortunately our daughter remains in a coma however the doctors have advised us that it is early days yet. Again, we have you to thank for her life._

_Please accept this letter as a small token of our appreciation._

_Yours most sincerely_

_Elsa Griffiths_

 

He read through the letter twice. A warm glow, one that had been absent for far too long, kindled in his soul. It was not the contents of the letter that fanned this flame, though he felt its sentiment keenly.

The most valuable part of this letter was set in the top right hand corner; it was an address.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's one more chapter to go which I might try and post tonight before I move on to Part II.
> 
> I can't tell you how emotional it has been, watching all your comments come in about this. I'm touched and overwhelmed by all of you!


	17. Epilogue: Round and Round and Back Where You Began

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Around him, he ignored the whispers and stares that followed his every move. He had nailed closed the holes in his heart and his mind was fully focussed in getting the next two years over and done with as soon as possible.

Enjolras was in hell.  
He hated the first day of the new school year. He hated the emptiness that he carried with him.

Having successfully passed his GCSEs that summer, and passed them well, he found his feet returning to school to start his time at Sixth Form. It was another important step in his master plan.

Around him, he ignored the whispers and stares that followed his every move. He had nailed closed the holes in his heart and his mind was fully focussed in getting the next two years over and done with as soon as possible.

More than anything he hated the empty chair beside him.

In registration he stared out of the window at the sun which was doing its best to break through the clouds. He was painfully aware of all the eyes burning into his back but nobody seemed to have the guts to approach him. He supposed that, for a lot of the form, the last time they had seen him he had been shouting very loudly at the Head Teacher. A lot of time had passed since then.

Half way through registration, the door opened and one of the office secretaries came in with a new sixth former in tow. He was a tall, lanky youth with short black hair and a pair of glasses that kept slipping down his nose. Enjolras turned his attention back to the window, not wanting to watch the form tutor put this new boy through his paces.

A few moments later he flinched as the empty chair was dragged away from the table. His eyes shot sideways to view the new guy as he dropped into the seat beside him.

"Hello," the new guy smiled at Enjolras. Being new, he obviously hadn't been told that no one spoke to Enjolras.

A hand was held out to him in a warm gesture of friendship. The guy looked at Enjolras expectantly.

"I'm Combeferre. Nice to meet you."

It was such a sincere look that Enjolras felt something loosen in his chest. For the first time in a long time he felt like he could finally breathe.

"Enjolras" he returned, taking the offered hand and giving it a firm shake.

"So, what's your first class?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for Part I. Thank you to everyone for sticking with me, for trusting me with this. Thank you for all your feedback. It's been awesome.
> 
> I'm going to start work on Part II immediately.
> 
> This chapter was going to be the prologue to Part II but I decided that Enjolras needed his guide right now.
> 
> R is fine. He's up in Sheffield with his grandparents, recuperating.

**Author's Note:**

> These two have a very long road ahead of them but at least they'll have each other to cling to, right?
> 
> Please let me know what you think - all feedback hugely appreciated. This is only my second fic and it is so very different from the last.
> 
> By the way, I'm lynchy8 on tumblr. I read more than I post but by all means feel free to say hi :)


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